First I better offer up my definition of a “harmony group,” which is any group that tends to privilege harmony over lead-and-support. That’s tricky. In rock and roll, lead and support groups almost always had formidable harmonies, even if they just amounted to Keith leaning into Mick’s mike. And, in fact, one of my two favorite rock and roll vocal arrangements (I’m leaving black and white gospel and bluegrass out of this) is Gladys Knight and the Pips’ “Midnight Train to Georgia” which is just about the definition of a lead and support group finishing each others’ breaths. My other favorite is the Byrds’ “Turn, Turn, Turn,” which is so purely harmonic it sounds like it couldn’t possibly have been “arranged” any more than breathing is.

With those for logical extremes, there’s a lot of room in between. I’d place the midpoint somewhere in the neighborhood of the Rascals’ “Good Lovin’,” which weaves a lot of fantastic  and surprising harmonies into a classic lead and support structure. Start asking which sub-category the Rascals, or that record, fall in and we could be here all day.

So, to keep it simple, I’ll just list all the rock and roll aggregations I think of as being true harmony groups of the first order (no matter how many great leads they may have featured):

The Everly Brothers (from whom all else flows); the Fleetwoods; the Beach Boys; the Beatles; the Hollies; the Byrds; Simon and Garfunkel; the Mamas & the Papas; the 5th Dimension (at least until somebody figured out they could sell a lot more records by putting Marilyn McCoo out front); Spinners (a close call but I put them just this side of the divide); the Persuasions; ABBA; The Bangles.

That’s a nice baker’s dozen. I’m leaving out a lot. I’m counting Peter, Paul and Mary as folk. Doo wop is very confusing in this respect as is reggae. Groups as diverse as the Four Seasons, the Shangri-Las, the Jackson 5 or the Staple Singers (just to name a very few) had consistently fantastic harmonies, but were finally dominated by their principal lead singers. And a group like the Searchers made plenty of fine records without quite sustaining the heights of those I mentioned.

Still, even whittling the definition down to the bone, I’m left with Phil and Don, Gary Troxel, Brian and Carl; Paul and John; Allan Clarke; Gene Clark (with a nod to Roger McGuinn, who shared Sly Stone’s uncanny ability to be the dominant force in a group where he was far from the best singer); Paul and Artie; Denny and Cass; Marilyn and Billy; Bobby Smith and Philippe Wynne; Jerry Lawson; Agnetha and Frida; Susanna Hoffs and the Peterson sisters. (Update: Of course, I was bound to overlook a few. A day later, I already see the Impressions and the Turtles are inexcusably missing. Make ti a baker’s dozen plus two, then and my sincere apologies to Curtis and Howard and whoever else it will turn out I forgot. But it doesn’t change the final answer! 2nd Update: Also forgot the Bee Gees. Oh, yeah, them! Sorry Barry. Sorry Robin.)

If I had to pick a “greatest” I wouldn’t.Not even with a gun to my head. I’m a little thick but I’m not stupid.

As for a favorite?

Well, sometimes it’s easier than you think it will be.

You just have to think of a little test.

Like, who, of all those great singers, could make me listen to this tripe all the way through, every single time it ever came on the radio, just to hear a four line chorus which featured maybe your fiftieth best vocal?

You, Carl. Only you.

I’ve said it before, but there’s a piece of me that will never accept him being gone.

[Next Up…yet another fool’s game: My Favorite Dylan Cover]



Rock and roll reached a long way, never further than when somebody proved that the least likely of the tried-and-true source traditions–the brother duo singing mountain harmony–could fit right in.

The proof came courtesy of Phil Everly, who passed yesterday, and his brother Don. Groomed in the world of the Blue Sky Boys and the Stanley Brothers–a world that sounded even older, lonelier and more isolated from modernity than it was–they created a world where the possibilities reached as far and high as any American music ever has or ever will.

Hundreds came after, some obvious (the Beatles, the Beach Boys, the Byrds, Simon and Garfunkel, the Mamas and the Papas, much of the history of rock for a generation in other words) some not so obvious (Mary Weiss has said that the Shangri-Las found themselves by practicing to the Everlys records, Stevie Nicks assuaged the hurt of having “Silver Springs” rejected for Rumours by taking solace in the fact that the song which replaced it, “I Don’t Want to Know,” gave her and Lindsey Buckingham a chance to do what she termed “our Everly Brothers thing,” and, frankly, any two people who have ever put their heads next a microphone to sing either close or contrapuntal harmony since the late fifties could say some version of the same).

Considering that this list only scratches the surface and further considering how far those acts reached, it’s entirely possible that the Everlys, in purely direct and musical terms, influenced more great records than even the greatest and most visionary of their contemporaries.

That’s saying a mouthful and of course its a mouthful that’s not subject to mathematical proof. But if you listen to what came after with an open ear and an awareness that rock and roll is vocal music before and after it is anything else you certainly find them in as many places–expected and unexpected–as anyone, be it Elvis or Ray or Chuck or James or whoever.

Make no mistake though.

Legions came after, sure enough.

Nobody touched them.

(NOTE: On the day after a white southerner who changed the world infinitely for the better passed away, he still came second on my initial Google search among his Christian name-sakes to Phil Robertson, a man who has evidently never acknowledged the need for those changes and who could never have gotten anywhere near celebrity in the hidebound fifties. As I have been known to say: Goodbye us.)