Born In 1956?
|They may have called it ‘hiding the cannoli’ or ‘planting the parsnip’ or ‘passing the gravy’ but we know what Mom & Dad were really doing when you popped into existence!
Born on January 1, 1956 – February 3, 1956:
“The Ballad of Davy Crockett,” is a tune that went from obscurity to making kids everywhere demand coonskin caps from their long-suffering parents. The song was released in 1955 by the one and only Bill Hayes, who probably didn’t realize he’d be responsible for starting a frontier fashion frenzy. It was the theme for Walt Disney’s mini-series “Davy Crockett,” because who wouldn’t want a catchy theme song for their historical drama?
Enter George Bruns and Thomas W. Blackburn, two chaps who were given the task of writing a song about a man who was born on a mountain top in Tennessee, could kill a bear when he was only three, and was king of the wild frontier. No pressure, right?
Disney, known for having his finger on the pulse, knew the world was ready for a man in a coonskin cap. I mean, who wasn’t back in the 1950s? So, he commissioned a series on the legendary Davy Crockett, and naturally, the series needed an earworm of a theme song. Bruns and Blackburn crafted a song with a chorus so catchy it should’ve come with a health warning. It followed Crockett’s life from his tough-as-nails mountain man birth to his time as a soldier, hunter, and eventual congressman. Politics, am I right?
When Bill Hayes crooned his way through this ballad, it hit the public like a bag of bricks. Kids everywhere went nuts for it. It shot to number one on the Billboard Hot 100, causing what I like to call “The Great Coonskin Cap Rush of ’55.” This song was so potent it even caused a national epidemic, dubbed “Crockett mania.” Symptoms included a desire for frontier-inspired fashion, an inexplicable need to wrestle bears, and the ability to only communicate through the lyrics of the song.
Born on February 4, 1956 – February 14, 1956:
This track was released in 1955, when people were clamoring for something new. They were tired of their grandpa’s banjo tunes and their cousin’s awful attempts at yodeling. They needed a new beat, a fresh rhythm, a “je ne sais quoi” that would get their feet tapping and their hips swinging.
Enter Pérez Prado, the man, the legend, the King of Mambo himself. Prado was like the cool uncle who shows up to the family reunion with a brand-new sound system and says, “Forget about the hokey pokey, let’s do the mambo!” “Cherry Pink And Apple Blossom White” had a rhythm as intoxicating as a mojito on a hot summer day. People didn’t just want to listen to this song, they wanted to dance to it, they wanted to live it. The track was so catchy you’d find yourself humming it while making coffee, during your lunch break, and in the shower.
The tune was like a siren call to the dance floor. The unique blend of trumpets, percussion, and that legendary mambo beat was so alluring that even your grandma would be compelled to get up and shake a leg.
But that’s not all. The song was also the soundtrack to the movie “Underwater!” starring Jane Russell. This wasn’t just a tune; it was a cultural phenomenon. Prado had somehow tapped into the zeitgeist and come up with the mambo equivalent of a double rainbow.
Born on February 15, 1956 – February 28, 1956:
A song that’s about as subtle as a neon sign in a blackout. First, let’s talk about the title. Who is this Henry, and why are we so keen to dance with him? Is he the life of the party? Does he have moves like Jagger before Jagger was even a thing? The mystery surrounds our dear Henry like an extra layer of cologne on a school dance night.
The song itself is a bubbly, bouncy number that makes you want to put on your dancing shoes, grab the nearest Henry (or Harriet, we don’t discriminate), and shake a leg. It’s got that infectious rhythm that gets you tapping your feet, even if you have two left ones.
Now, the lyrics are a whole other story. Georgia, in her charmingly straightforward way, puts it all out there. She’s not one to be a wallflower, standing on the sidelines while the music plays. Oh no, she’s demanding to be noticed, to be danced with, and she won’t take no for an answer. It’s like she’s running a one-woman campaign for wallflowers everywhere, advocating for their right to cut a rug. There’s an unbridled energy in her voice that’s downright contagious. It’s like she’s rallying the troops, demanding everyone get on the dance floor. “Step aside folks, Georgia’s in the house, and she’s brought her dancing shoes!”
“Dance With Me, Henry (Wallflower)” is like the musical equivalent of that one friend who drags you onto the dance floor when your favorite song comes on, even if you’re mortified at the prospect. It’s infectious, it’s irresistible, and it makes you wonder why you’d ever want to be a wallflower when you could be dancing with Henry.
In the end, “Dance With Me, Henry (Wallflower)” isn’t just a song, it’s a movement, a joyful rebellion against the norm. It’s a rallying cry for all the wallflowers out there to step into the spotlight and dance like nobody’s watching. Now, whether Henry is ready for that, we’ll just have to wait and see.
March 1, 1956:- March 14, 1956
This song is a bit like a musical chameleon, changing its tone, tempo, and even lyrics with every new artist brave enough to take it on. Picture a game of musical ‘telephone’, where each artist passes their version to the next, but instead of the message getting more muddled, it somehow gets more…interesting.
Let’s start with Baxter’s version. Imagine you’ve just sauntered into a 1950s diner, and there’s a dreamy, orchestral tune playing on the jukebox. It’s dripping with the kind of romance that makes you want to stare longingly into your milkshake. It’s sentimental, it’s sweet, it’s “Unchained Melody” by Lex Baxter. This song has a melody that swirls around you like an overeager poodle, and Baxter’s orchestra gives it a lush, Hollywood-worthy sound. It’s like a spoonful of syrup in your morning coffee – perhaps a little too sweet for some, but just right for others.
Then, of course, we have the multitude of other versions, more numerous than your Aunt Linda’s collection of cat figurines. The Righteous Brothers gave us a soul-stirring rendition in 1965 that makes you feel like you’re reaching out to your long-lost love across the vastness of space and time, or perhaps just across a crowded dance floor. Elvis Presley – the King himself – took a shot at it too, adding a smoky, bluesy flavor that makes the song feel like a late-night conversation over a glass of fine whiskey.
Even U2 got in on the “Unchained Melody” action, turning it into a stadium-filling power ballad that probably had Bono waving a white flag around on stage.
March 15, 1956 – April 13, 1956:
Picture this: a smoky dance floor, the air charged with anticipation, the crowd yearning for a rhythm that would touch their souls. In steps Pérez Prado, the suave King of Mambo, bringing with him a melody that promised to be as refreshing as a delicate mist on a balmy summer night.
“Cherry Pink And Apple Blossom White” was not merely a song; it was an exotic dance, a rhythmic seduction that swept listeners into a delicious whirl of emotions. Each note, each beat, was like a flirtatious wink, a sultry promise that lured you into the rhythmic embrace of the mambo. The trumpet crooned, the percussion pulsated, creating a soundscape that was as alluring as a lingering sunset on a tropical island. The melody was the kind that would slowly envelop you, tracing a tantalizing path through your senses, lingering in your mind like the sweetest of kisses.
Born on April 14, 1956 – April 28, 1956:
“Singin’ the Blues” by Frank Sinatra, a choice as unexpected as pineapple on a pizza. This isn’t just old blue eyes, it’s old blue eyes singing the blues, and folks, the irony is richer than a triple chocolate cake.
Firstly, let’s acknowledge the audacity. Frankie boy, known for his swaggering, charming and smooth tunes, going into the blues territory? That’s like finding out that James Bond decided to ditch his martinis and start a winery. It’s left-field, it’s brave, and it’s… actually quite entertaining!
“Singin’ the Blues” is like Sinatra decided to crash the blues party, wearing his tuxedo and bow tie, and you know what? The blues welcomed him with open arms. It’s like a Hollywood A-lister doing a cameo in a quirky indie flick – it’s unusual, but it adds a bit of sparkle and pizzazz to the mix.
Now, this isn’t just any song, it’s the blues – a genre that’s known for its soulful, melancholic tunes that can make even the most stoic of us reach for a tissue. But when Sinatra sings the blues, it’s got that swing, that signature Sinatra sparkle that somehow takes the blues and dips it in a little bit of stardust. He sings of heartbreak and sorrow with such style and grace that you almost forget that you should be feeling sad.
Sinatra’s “Singin’ the Blues” is like a martini at a beer party – it’s refined, it’s elegant, and it somehow works. It’s as if Sinatra took the blues on a date to a fancy restaurant and showed it a good time. It’s unexpected, it’s delightful, and it leaves you wanting more.
Born on April 29, 1956 – June 9, 1956:
“Rock Around the Clock” by Bill Haley & His Comets – a track so hot, it’s practically sizzling. The Granddaddy of Rock ‘n’ Roll songs, this tune doesn’t just set the mood, it turns the thermostat up to 11 and then breaks the knob off. Now, this isn’t just your average rock ‘n’ roll number. Oh no, Bill Haley and his Comets catapulted this genre into the mainstream, and they did it with a sultry swagger that’s as intoxicating as a well-aged bourbon. This is a track that makes your pulse race, your blood heat, and your inhibitions scatter like frightened birds.
From the very first beat, “Rock Around the Clock” invites you into its wild, untamed world. The drums kick off, pulsating with a rhythm that’s primal and raw. They draw you in, whispering of wild nights and reckless abandon. It’s the kind of rhythm that makes you want to throw caution to the wind and dance like nobody’s watching. And then there’s Bill Haley’s voice. Oh, that voice. It’s as smooth as melted chocolate and as potent as the finest whiskey. He croons and cries out, singing of a night that lasts forever, of dancing until dawn, of living in the moment. There’s an underlying, undeniable invitation in his voice, a seductive proposal to let loose and live in the present.
“Rock Around the Clock” isn’t just a song – it’s a siren call, a provocative proposal. It urges you to forget about time, to throw away your worries, and to lose yourself in the hypnotic rhythm of rock ‘n’ roll.
When the clock strikes one, two, three and on, “Rock Around the Clock” promises an adventure, a tantalizing tryst that lasts from dusk till dawn. It’s an anthem for those who crave the intoxicating thrill of a night that never ends, a party that keeps going long after the sun has risen. It’s not just a song, it’s a sexy, steamy proposition to dance, to love, and to live like there’s no tomorrow.
Born on June 10, 1956 – June 23, 1956:
Nothing says authenticity like a man born in New York City singing about the Lone Star State.
Now, I’d like to first address the elephant in the room – Mitch Miller. The man’s as synonymous with Texas as bagels are with the Wild West. But hey, who are we to argue with artistic expression? If Sinatra can sing the blues, Miller can certainly croon about Texas. It’s a bit like watching a French chef try his hand at sushi. It’s unexpected, mildly confusing, but you can’t help but be intrigued. Miller takes the classic folk tune and gives it a big-band spin. His rendition is as subtle as a rodeo bull in a china shop. It’s brash, it’s bold, and it’s louder than a shotgun at dawn. But you know what? It’s also kind of charming, in a way that only a city slicker wearing cowboy boots can be.
His booming voice is about as gentle as a Texas twister. It’s hearty and robust, just like a good Texas chili. And let’s be real here, folks – Miller’s as Texan as a New York hot dog. But he sure does sing about that Yellow Rose with a zeal that’s as big as Texas itself. And let’s not forget about that instrumentation. The orchestra is so brassy and bold, it’s almost like they’re challenging you to a duel at high noon. You half expect to see a tumbleweed roll by every time you listen to this track. All in all, Mitch Miller’s “The Yellow Rose of Texas” is as authentic as a plastic cactus, but it’s also as fun as a barrel of monkeys. It’s a bit like eating a Tex-Mex taco in Manhattan – it might not be the real deal, but it’s still a deliciously entertaining experience. Yeehaw, anyone?
Born on June 24, 1956 – July 13, 1956:
The clean-cut, milk-and-cookies image of Pat Boone crooning this Fats Domino classic is a bit like watching a librarian trying to headbang to heavy metal. It’s unexpectedly entertaining, if not a bit confusing.
First off, we’ve got to acknowledge the fact that the wholesome, all-American Pat Boone is singing a song that was born in the fiery heart of the rhythm and blues genre. If that’s not ironic, then I don’t know what is. It’s like seeing a vegan cooking up a steak – it just doesn’t add up. Now, onto the song itself. “Ain’t That A Shame”, a tune filled with heartbreak and anguish, is delivered by Boone with a vocal styling that could be described as ‘cheerfully mournful’. His voice rings out with the buoyancy of a sunny day, even though the lyrics are as mournful as a rainy Monday morning. You might find yourself tapping your foot and smiling, only to realize you’re grooving to the tale of a broken heart.
Boone’s style is like taking a spicy, rich gumbo and turning it into a mild tomato soup – it’s still good, but it’s lost some of that original zest. Yet, there’s something oddly compelling about his gentle, sanitized interpretation. It’s as if he’s respectfully tip-toeing around the edges of R&B, careful not to scuff his white buck shoes. Finally, we come to the ultimate irony of it all. Despite its squeaky-clean delivery and toned-down passion, Boone’s version of “Ain’t That A Shame” was a massive hit, even outperforming Fats Domino’s original on the pop charts. I guess it just goes to show that sometimes, a little irony can be a very good thing.
Born on July 14, 1956 – August 3, 1956:
Penned by the legendary Sammy Fain and Paul Francis Webster, it’s like they took a heady dose of Romeo and Juliet, mixed it with a pinch of Pride and Prejudice, and then smothered it all with an extra layer of sweet, sugary sentimentality.
First off, can we take a moment to appreciate the earnestness of the Four Aces here? Their harmonious crooning on this track is more concentrated than a triple espresso shot of love. You can practically see the hearts floating out of the speakers as the tune plays.
Now, onto the song itself. Sammy Fain and Paul Francis Webster, those mischievous musical Cupids, have managed to cram just about every romantic cliché into this one song. It’s like they had a checklist: overwhelming passion? Check. Star-crossed lovers? Check. Immortal love that transcends time and space? Double check!
The lyrics wax poetic about the wonders of love, to a point where you’d think they were describing the eighth wonder of the world. “Once on a high and windy hill, In the morning mist, Two lovers kissed and the world stood still”. That’s some potent stuff right there, folks. If the world stands still every time lovers kiss, it’s a miracle we’re not stuck in a perpetual time loop.
The Aces’ vocal delivery is like a passionate plea for love, a love so powerful it’s almost palpable. You half expect to receive a bouquet of roses and a box of chocolates just from listening to this song.
In all honesty, “Love Is A Many-Splendored Thing” is so full of amour it could give Cupid a run for his money. It’s as subtle as a love letter written in skywriting, but you know what? That’s part of its charm. It’s the kind of song that makes you want to throw caution to the wind, find the nearest hill, and share a kiss with your loved one, just to see if the world really will stand still.
Born on August 4, 1956 – August 31, 1956:
We’re about to take a whimsical dive into the kaleidoscope of colors that is Roger Williams’ “Autumn Leaves”. Written by Joseph Kosma with lyrics by Jacques Prévert, it’s as if they tossed a dictionary, a season’s calendar, and a box of Crayola crayons into a blender to create this enchanting number.
First off, let’s appreciate the sheer audacity of Kosma and Prévert. These cats decided to pen a song about the autumn season, but you get the sense they were as clueless about the season as a penguin is about sunbathing. It’s like they googled “What is autumn?” and then decided to chuck every buzzword into the song – falling leaves, autumn hues, September days, they’ve got it all covered.
The lyrics weave a tale of melancholic romance, shrouded in the mystery of falling leaves. You could argue it’s a metaphor for love lost or changing times, but it seems like they just thought, “Hey, leaves are romantic, right?” And thus, a classic was born.
Roger Williams takes this hodgepodge of seasonal metaphors and runs with it. His piano playing brings a sense of gravity to the tune that makes you feel like every falling leaf is a heartbreaking tragedy. It’s as if he’s trying to convince us that these autumn leaves are not just plant debris, but forgotten love letters from Mother Nature herself.
In conclusion, “Autumn Leaves” is a baffling but beautiful paradox. It’s like a Picasso painting – you’re not entirely sure what’s going on, but it sure does make you feel something. So, here’s to Kosma, Prévert, and Williams – they might not have known the first thing about autumn, but they sure knew how to create a timeless tune.
Born on September 1, 1956 – October 13, 1956:
This song is the musical equivalent of a double-decker sandwich – it’s stacked with layers of bluesy rhythm and hefty lyrics that are heavier than a barbell at a powerlifting meet. Written by Merle Travis, “Sixteen Tons” packs a punch weightier than a heavyweight boxer in the final round. It delves into the life of a coal miner, with lyrics denser than a ton of lead. In fact, if you thought algebra was hard to grasp, try making sense of the line “another day older and deeper in debt”. Sounds like something heavier than your last diet cheat day, right?
Ford’s voice has more weight to it than an overloaded freight train, and it pulls you in like a tractor beam. The tonal gravity of his baritone perfectly matches the heavy subject matter. The rhythm chugs along like a fully loaded coal truck, steady and unrelenting, and before you know it, you’re immersed in the weighty narrative. The song’s charm lies in its weightiness – it’s not light and fluffy like a cotton candy, but rather robust and substantial like a five-course meal. “Sixteen Tons” isn’t something you’d play during a lighthearted workout; it’s the song you’d turn to when you’re lifting those 50-pound dumbbells and need something solid to keep you grounded.
So, if you’re looking for a song that carries its weight and then some, look no further than “Sixteen Tons”. It’s the sonic equivalent of a Herculean feat of strength – a colossal testament to the resilience of the human spirit under the weightiest of circumstances. Just remember to lift with your legs, not your back.
Born on October 13, 1956 – November 23, 1956:
This song isn’t just a piece of music; it’s a tantalizing black silk robe, gently sliding off a shoulder to reveal a provocative wink and a knowing smile. Martin’s voice is as smooth and intoxicating as a glass of fine red wine, inviting you into his world of nostalgia. The tune begins with a coy invitation, “Take one fresh and tender kiss,” as if he’s guiding you through a recipe for a delectable, sensual soufflé. Martin’s recipe isn’t one you’ll find in a traditional cookbook, oh no, it’s a recipe for memories, and the main ingredient is undeniably allure.
The catchy beat plays coyly in the background, a flirtatious rhythm that sways like the hips of a seasoned salsa dancer. It’s the tantalizing tease of a night full of promise, and as the song progresses, it’s like you’re dancing a slow waltz with Dean Martin himself under the star-lit sky, the world fading away as you get lost in the melody. The chorus whispers into your ear, “Then add the wedding bells, one house where lovers dwell, three little kids for flavor,” painting a picture of domestic bliss with a sly, mischievous twinkle in its eye. It’s as if Dean’s whispering, “We could have it all – and wouldn’t it be delicious?”
In essence, “Memories Are Made of This” isn’t just a song, it’s an amorous escapade served on a silver platter, garnished with Martin’s irresistible charm. It’s a musical reminder that life’s sweetest moments, those rich memories, are created not just from grand gestures, but from the intimate, sultry details that make your heart race. So dim the lights, pour that wine, and let Dean Martin sweep you off your feet.
Born on Kay Starr November 24, 1956 – December 1, 1956:
This isn’t just a song, oh no, it’s a seductive dance, a pulsating rhythm that teases and tempts, making your heart beat a bit faster as you surrender to its irresistible allure.
The moment Starr’s sultry voice hits your ears, it’s like a velvet glove tracing a shivering path down your spine, causing your senses to stand on high alert. It’s a voice that’s both powerful and soft, commanding your attention, yet whispering sweet nothings that make you weak at the knees. She sings of a scene we’ve all witnessed — mom and dad attempting to waltz to a rock and roll rhythm — and somehow, it turns into a dance of seduction. The image of a couple lost in their own world, swaying to their own rhythm, is as tantalizing as the lingering scent of a lover’s perfume on your pillow.
Starr’s smooth notes sway and twirl like a dancer under the spotlight, each word she sings dripping with nostalgia and a seductive sweetness. It’s a waltz, yes, but not just any waltz. It’s a waltz dipped in rock and roll, a fusion as tempting as a bite of dark chocolate infused with chili – sweet, sensual, with a hint of heat that leaves you wanting more. The beats in the background act as a pulsating heartbeat, a rhythm that undulates and throbs, almost mimicking the pounding of your own heart as you get swept up in Starr’s world. It’s an irresistible call to the dance floor, a temptation that makes you want to sway, twirl, and lose yourself in the music.
“Rock and Roll Waltz” isn’t merely a tune; it’s a bewitching dance of love and longing, a ballad that doesn’t just appeal to your ears but teases your senses. It’s a song that invites you to close your eyes and imagine the intimate dance, the enthralling rhythm, the sweet seduction; all simmering beneath the surface.
Born on December 2, 1956 – December 8, 1956:
Let’s start with that iconic opening line: “Oh-oh, yes I’m the great pretender.” Talk about a humble brag! Not just any old pretender, oh no, the GREAT pretender. It’s like our singer was a chameleon in a past life, proudly boasting about his ability to blend into any emotional landscape, no matter how artificially constructed it might be.
Our vocal chameleon is pretending that he’s doing well, while he’s actually as blue as an emotionally overwhelmed Smurf. You’ve got to give him credit, though – it’s hard to sing about heartbreak while maintaining such a consistent air of nonchalance. Clearly, our ‘great pretender’ has mastered the art of crying on the inside. It’s like emotional multitasking at its finest! And let’s not forget the backing vocals – with their dulcet tones and harmonious echoes, it’s like they’re the Greek chorus of broken-hearted souls. It’s almost as if they’re saying, “Yes, we too are masters of emotional disguise. We see you, oh great pretender, and raise you four additional pretenders.”
In essence, “The Great Pretender” is the ultimate ode to every drama king and queen who’s ever decided that reality just isn’t quite as appealing as a well-constructed facade. Because who needs authenticity when you can convincingly pretend to be ‘living in a world of make believe’? Just remember, folks, in the game of emotional charades, it’s all about the performance!
Born on December 9, 1956 – December 15, 1956:
|“Rock and Roll Waltz” isn’t merely a tune; it’s a bewitching dance of love and longing, a ballad that doesn’t just appeal to your ears but teases your senses. It’s a song that invites you to close your eyes and imagine the intimate dance, the enthralling rhythm, the sweet seduction; all simmering beneath the surface. It’s an auditory feast, my darlings, and one you’ll want to savor.
Born on December 16, 1956 -December 22, 1956:
This instrumental piece isn’t just a song, it’s a slow seduction, a whispered invitation into a world of irresistible allure and intoxicating sensuality. From the first few notes, the guitar gently strums, tracing a melody as tantalizing as the softest caress against your skin, slowly building up, like the growing anticipation between two lovers. It’s a dance, delicate and determined, weaving an intricate web of temptation.
Then enters the accordion, bold and sensual, like a lover’s confident touch. The notes twirl and swirl, rising and falling in a breathless dance that mirrors the rhythm of two hearts beating in sync. It whispers of stolen kisses in hidden alleyways and dances under the Lisbon moonlight, each note a secret shared only between lovers. The brass elements in the song add a spicy undercurrent, a daring flirtation that promises more. It’s the lingering look across a crowded room, the promise in a lover’s half-smile, adding an irresistible layer of mystery and intrigue. It dares you to explore further, to lose yourself in the rhythm and give in to the captivating allure.
Finally, the song ends on a sultry sigh, like the contented echo of a lover’s whisper, leaving you longing for more. It’s a satisfying resolution, yet a promise of more to come. A flirtation with the beginning, a dalliance with the end, and a whole lot of seduction in between.
Born on December 23, 1956 – December 31, 1956:
From the first trill of the accordion, you’re immediately transported into the world of Parisian caricature, or at least, what every Hollywood film in the 50s told us Paris should be. It’s like stepping into a pastel-colored movie set, complete with a perky mime performing tricks and a beret-wearing artist painting in a corner, baguette casually tucked under his arm, of course.
The accordion is in the spotlight, twisting and twirling like an over-excited can-can dancer who just chugged three espresso shots. It’s dancing faster than a sugar-rushed toddler at a birthday party, trying to encapsulate all the chaotic charm of the city of lights.
Then there’s the steady strumming of the guitar, acting as the grounding presence in this whole charade. It’s like the long-suffering friend of the accordion, there to provide moral support but also silently questioning life choices. You can almost hear it muttering, “I was classically trained for this?”
As for the portrayal of the ‘poor people’ – well, let’s just say the whole thing comes off a bit like a love-struck tourist who visited Paris once and decided poverty looked rather… picturesque. You almost expect to hear a jolly beggar in the background, jauntily tossing his cap around for spare change.
In conclusion, Les Baxter’s “Poor People of Paris” is a merry-go-round ride, a sugar-coated rendition of Paris where even poverty has a charming, almost endearing hue. It’s less of an accurate depiction and more of a tongue-in-cheek romp down a Parisian stereotype.
This Year’s Euphemism: Be Bop A Lula
|The average length of human gestation (Your ‘Conception Era’) is 280 days, or 40 weeks, from the first day of the woman’s last menstrual period. The medical term for the due date is the estimated date of confinement (EDC). If you were born late or a bit premature, add or subtract those days.