Certain tunes lodge in your brain from your earliest years. Depending on your age, you might have heard it on your mom’s “hi-fi,” your older sibling’s music app, or your third grade music education class (“Stand beside her, and guide her…”) before you got back to the business at hand of phonics instruction and the multiplication tables.
It’s not much different than certain words or phrases that get imprinted on your brain for better and for worse early in life, words carrying their own music as they do. (“You DID it, yayyy!!”; “Stop that THIS MINUTE!”)
An old friend of mine used to play piano on occasional visits to nursing homes, and one time he told me of a very old and seemingly out-of-it man who sat inert through multiple songs until my friend tickled the first few notes of an old jazz standard, whereupon the man finally lifted his head off his chest, grinned broadly, and avidly followed the song through to completion.
“Melody’s the last to go,” my friend observed at the time.
On a car ride last week, Mary loaded a song up from her phone onto the stereo that struck me immediately as deeply familiar, even though I had not a clue about its title or performer. It was all-instrumental, featuring such a deep, breathy, almost echoing clarinet that I initially felt a bit confused, wondering whether I was hearing a hybrid instrument that some enterprising tinkerer of a musician rigged up to dazzle audiences anew.
But there was no mistaking the melody, which seemed to make a beeline straight through my chest, settling somewhere down by my solar plexus, where it came to rest in a warm glow of revery, organic memory, and half-teary contentment—along with intense curiosity about its origin.
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Turns out the only thing I knew (or remembered) about “Stranger on the Shore” was its melody, which was composed by a mid-20th century English clarinetist and singer with the improbable name of Acker Bilk. Who could ever forget a name like that once it is heard?
“Acker” is a a kind of honorific nickname bestowed upon him by Army buddies he served with after World War II in the Suez Canal Zone as part of the Royal Engineers. It means “friend” or “mate” in the jargon of Somerset County, southwest England, from where Bilk hailed.
After his discharge, Bilk lived the classic life of an itinerant musician bouncing around the UK and Germany for a good decade playing clarinet in jazz clubs, beer joints and wherever else he and a crew of his Somerset homeboys could find a gig. He achieved an initial breakthrough with a 1960 song (“Summer Set,” a play on his home turf), that charted at #5 among UK singles for a spell.
But it wasn’t until the following year that he finally landed on the tune that he later admitted he got good and sick of playing, but about which he also quipped, appreciatively, that it represented his “old-age pension.”
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The tune was originally named “Jenny” in 1961, in honor of his young daughter. Bilk had decided to shake things up by adding a string group for the album he planned around it. But then someone who was connected to an upcoming British children’s television series named “Stranger on the Shore” caught wind of the song and convinced Bilk it would make a swell title tune introducing each episode.
So out went Jenny’s musical immortality, along with the series, which lasted only five episodes from September into October. But in came her father’s career ship, happily meeting up with that stranger on shore, his name unimportant, so long as he waited there with the gold record fame and fortune that more than a million sales and 55 weeks on the UK charts brought Bilk in the first year.
It was also among the first few songs to occupy #1 on the “Billboard Hot 100” in the U.S., preceding “I Want to Hold Your Hand” by about a year and a half. And it accomplished all that as a rare instrumental, a viral phenomenon in those pre-viral times.
Recognizing an opportunity, Bilk’s producer, the Ukrainian immigrant Robert Mellin (born as Israel Melnikoff), no musical slouch himself as lyricist for the John Coltrane-Johnny Hartman heart-stopper “My One and Only Love,” then penned some lyrics for ““Stranger on the Shore” the following year. It promptly caught a second wave with hit covers by Andy Williams, The Drifters, and many others over the years. (Yes, even Kenny G with that saxophone of his…)
Lyrically, it’s a standard love song of the era, the kind that ChatGPT might spit out in under a minute today with a decent prompt. Nothing wrong with it as such:
Here I stand, watching the tide go outSo all alone and blueJust dreaming dreams of you…
…but the music is the brilliant thing here, with the singular tonality Bilk achieves that doesn’t sound quite like any clarinet that’s ever been played.
Time for a listen, I think.
So let’s start with the original recorded version from 1962, when the song was still fresh on Bilk’s lips and a revelation to the easy listening music world. It’s a beautiful, velvety contemplation, heavy with vibrato, an immediate mood-setter, inviting our somewhat gauzy eyes out to sea, conjuring peace, even the waves brought to heel, the sea god Poseidon himself in repose, stilled, at least for now, by the sounds of human breath blowing through wood and cane as never before…
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His jazz band gives it a go here below, but the tune and his instrument remain intact as the star of this three-minute easing into warm and comforting waters. Yes, the style is different, perhaps less dreamy with a bit more color from the horns and rhythmic hop from the keyboard, bass and light drum work. But in the end, this is music with its edges sanded to the rounded wallow of Bilk’s soul, melancholy without a hint of self-pity, asking nothing but this moment of repose in a space where beauty abides.
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Finally, the American crooner Andy Williams, born in 1927, two years earlier than Bilk, and died two years earlier as well, in 2012. Williams, whom I wrote about here in relation to the subject of memory and my mother being smitten with him as a sort of wholesome version of Frank Sinatra, wasted no time in covering Bilk’s masterpiece, recording it in May, 1962, shortly after Robert Mellin added the lyrics. It charted for Williams a month later, fitting neatly with his mellifluous, soothing tenor—which I remember still….
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Deep appreciation to the photographers! Unless otherwise stated, some rights reserved under Creative Commons licensing
Homepage rotating banner photos (except for library books) by Elizabeth Haslam https://www.flickr.com/photos/lizhaslam/
Library books by Larry Rose, Redlands, California, all rights reserved, contact: larry@rosefoto.com
Bilk in concert by Patrick (Paddy/Patsy) Bohan, Tara, County Meath, Ireland https://www.flickr.com/photos/bohpix/
Mary on the shore by Andrew Hidas https://www.flickr.com/photos/andrewhidas/?
Andrew
This was a wonderful melody to wake up to today, (my 69th bday) actually liked all three renditions , but of course the original is the most soothing and deep. The others are very much a popularized version to remind one of the first. And my mom also loved Andy Williams, he was smoother around the edges than Sinatra, who she (and I) also loved.
I first heard Acker Bilk’s “Stranger on the Shore” on my old Japanese-made AM transistor radio (likely a popular collectible on eBay) and loved it immediately. The simplicity of Bilk’s soulful clarinet solo only enhanced its beautiful melody. While it now resides as a mainstay on my Spotify jazz playlist, it’s far more than a favorite song; it’s music I shared with my mom. She heard it a few days later on my transistor and loved it as well, It took her back to her youth when the clarinets of Artie Shaw and Benny Goodman were the rage. Shaw’s rendition of Cole Porter’s “Begin the Beguine” was at the top of her favorite jazz numbers with the possible exception of trumpeter Bunny Berigan’s “I Can’t Get Started.” I then turned her onto Dave Brubeck’s “Take Five”. Paul Desmond’s alto sax solo on that jazz classic never left her heart. In turn, she shared Antonin Vivaldi’s “Double Concerto for Two Cellos” with me. Thanks for the reawakening of those particular musical moments. Bilk’s never been a stranger on my shore.
I’m joining in here as an endorsement for reading, for reading fiction, and for following up on references found in those pages.
I came across Acker Bilk in Andrew Miller’s novel “The Land in Winter”. It is a gem of a book, set in Somerset during the infamous snowstorms in the winter of 1962-63. Acker Bilk was playing on the phonograph (!!!) at a Boxing Day party in a specific scene, and I decided to investigate….so glad I did. Not only did the music make the scene even more vivid and memorable (surely what the author intended) it has been a gift to my ever expanding music library.
What a hoot – Acker Bilk – a name & song I could never forget, even though I did not recall the title, but who could forget that name! I didn’t think I’d ever bump into Mr Bilk again! Thanks!! It’s kind of a shame that the ole “licorice stick” has largely been relegated to the back seat of popular music – outside of Benny Goodman & Artie Shaw one is hard pressed to name many others! Apparently Bilk’s beloved song made it to the moon on Apollo 10 (the tune orbited but didn’t land!). His jazz band sounded pretty good too! This also brings up memories of my childhood – being the youngest of 3 boys, playing a musical instrument was a must in the Feldman household with my mom on the piano, oldest brother Don on the trumpet, middle brother Kim on the clarinet, and yours truly also trumpet (later forsaken for the drums). Of course Kim made the relatively easy switch to saxophone by high school to join a local rock band much to our mother’s chagrin! A BIG thanks to Mary for the book suggestion, it’s my turn to pick a book for our book group and The Land in Winter sounds wonderful!
Oh my, I had completely forgotten the music, but not the unusual name. So I dug through my old lps and there it was. The cover has aged but the record is in mint condition as I didn’t play it much after buying it in the 60’s when it came out, since my tastes were more “cool jazz” and he just wasn’t cool enough for me. Listening to him now, in my dotage, I definitely appreciate his playing more. However I know why I relegated it to storage status, it was the Leon Young String Chorale. But there beside Stranger on the Shore were other velvety recordings such as Jackie Gleason’s Rebound and Andre Kostelanetz, etc. Thanks for sharing memory lane.
Liane, Happy Belated, for starters! Also: we watched a pretty gripping & wonderful miniseries a little while back on the making of “The Godfather,” called “The Offer,” quite the drama unto itself! Had no idea when seeing the original in ’72 that Sinatra figured so prominently in that drama, his vehement attempts to have it blocked, his restaurant row with Mario Puzo, fascinating stuff. Sharper edges indeed!
Robert, pardon if this is the hundredth time I’ve said something to this effect in this space, but yep: That’s what music can do. Glad to help facilitate another visit with your mom!
Mary, when I think about it, I very likely get the heavy majority of writing ideas from reading—funny how that works!—and the rest from hanging out with other people. (Who have been reading…)
Kevin, so sorry I missed the Feldman Brothers Band—I’m sure you “coulda been contenduhs” if the cards had fallen differently! And I’m with you in being utterly fascinated by the name, “Acker Bilk.” Still surprised I never heard it back in the day!
Barbara, you might have yourself what can become an heirloom record there, my Dear, what a hoot to be able to find it. And you know what all the audiophiles say: the engineers still haven’t been able to improve on the LP, so happy listening!
Wow! Our pure delight. Thank you sooo much. xxoo