It was always going to be a dangerous mission. Trevor Churchill's brainchild, THE GOLDEN AGE OF AMERICAN POP, had been in development for some time and the prototype was about to be launched into the fray with a bundle of seemingly undifferentiated repertoire. The potential embarrassment factor was high with risk of heavy flak on the way and snipers on the ground in the landing zone. Trevor was calling for volunteers. There was a lot of nervous shuffling among the ranks. Some of the lads took to studying their toecaps, while others took an inordinate interest in the state of their cuticles, or tried to look inconspicuous by melting into the background.
We say undifferentiated because Trevor believes there's a customer out there for every hit record that ever was. This time he'd set himself the difficult task of pigeonholing records from pop's ‘Golden Age' which stubbornly defied easy categorisation: they weren't quite novelties, not quite MOR, and, save for a few borderline cases, not quite Easy Listening. Most of records sounded a tad too grown up to appear on "Teenage Crush". This was pop so pure, plain and simple that even the driven snow appeared mucky by comparison. Hits that conjure up images of mom's apple pie, white picket fences, sunny dispositions, God, country and my baby, and all that.
Unchartered territory then, even by Ace's intrepid standards. But, as you all know, Ace likes to go where others fear to tread and with the help of a brave volunteer or two (step ...