5 Flop Songs From The '60s We Can't Help But Love

The 1960s gave us some of the biggest musical acts of all time, such as The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, the Beach Boys, Bob Dylan, and Aretha Franklin. But it was also the era in which the dream of being a pop star — or, more specifically, being in a rock band — exploded. This was especially true in the aftermath of Beatlemania, when teenagers across the country decided to try their hand at becoming rock gods, producing a plethora of garage rock bands. Many of these groups were short-lived and released maybe a single or two for a generally local following, before calling it quits or forming other groups.

While these artists, as well as those from other genres like folk and soul, may have only reached a limited listenership before their careers ended, many of their records have since been rediscovered by later generations of listeners and became cult classics. These five songs utterly failed to bother the charts as singles or as key tracks on albums that also failed to chart upon their first release. Nevertheless, we think each is representative of the joyous boundary-pushing that characterized the low-budget recording artists of the 1960s.

"Don't Look Back" by Boston-based garage rock outfit the Remains has been immortalized thanks to its inclusion on "Nuggets: Original Artyfacts from the First Psychedelic Era, 1965–1968," the influential 1972 compilation that has long been a gateway for those interested in the alternative '60s scene. 

With a charismatic performance from frontman Barry Tashian, the song has warm, fuzzy guitar tones throughout, and an unforgettable breakdown reminding listeners to kick against those who attempt to maintain the status quo while the counterculture was in full swing. "Truth is the light/ The light is the way," sings Tashian on a track notable for lacking the sour tone of much of the garage rock of the era.

The track was composed by Tashian's fellow '60s rocker Billy Vera, and despite its intelligent lyricism and attention-grabbing arrangement, it failed to manifest into a hit for the Remains. The band had the honor of supporting The Beatles on their American tour in 1966, the same year that "Don't Look Back" was released, and even played on "The Ed Sullivan Show." But despite the talent on display, the Remains never developed much of a fanbase. Though the band had enough backing to cut a full self-titled studio album, the Remains had already split by the time it hit record stores, and it was destined only to become a cult favorite. The album, on which "Don't Look Back" remains the standout track, was finally rereleased in 2007.

If you're someone who enjoys digging out dusty old obscure classics that really deserved far more attention than they got, Jim Sullivan's 1969 album "U.F.O." is a must-listen. It's a lost gem that says much about the era in which it was created, and the album's title track is arguably its stand-out.

The song "U.F.O." is lyrically dense and packed with references to Sullivan's obscure obsessions, such as extraterrestrials, with songwriting that marries effectively with The Wrecking Crew's tasteful instrumentation. Strings swell throughout, giving the song a rich melancholy that complements the sense of awe arising from the subject matter, while Sullivan's warm vocal grounds the song in folk and country, despite the weirdness underpinning it.

Sullivan released one more album in 1972, but his career failed to take off. In March 1975, he left his family in Los Angeles to seek his fortune in Nashville, Tennessee. However, he never got there. His car was discovered in Santa Rosa, New Mexico, his guitar in the passenger seat. He was never seen again, and much of the mystique that has built up around "U.F.O." relates to how prescient many of his lyrics seem to be of Sullivan's strange, unsolved disappearance ... or abduction?

The Elite was a well-regarded local band in the mid-1960s in Texas' famously fecund Fort Worth garage rock scene, but its following remained local. "One Potato, Two Potato" is perhaps the most enjoyable of the Elite's singles, a song that spans both sides of the 7-inch record. Combined, the performance lasts just over three and a half minutes, and the band's youthful energy fills it with effervescent passages that switch between playground chats, nonsensical vocals lifted from the Trashmen's "Surfin' Bird," cacophonous drum fills, smooth-surf rock guitar passages, and climactic grunts and screams from the band members.

The Elite fell apart after just a few years together, with its members joining other bands. But as lead singer Rodger Brownlee told the Star Telegram back in 2004: "The level of notoriety we had in the Elite was never matched ... we agreed that we never had the same feeling of exuberance or excitement with any of the other bands we were in. It was like losing your true love. It was a period of time that would only happen once" (via Malcolm Mayhew). Indeed, "One Potato, Two Potato" demonstrates just how much fun it must have been.

Girl groups of the early 1960s were typically smooth, composed, and classy. The Tammys, however, was something else entirely, and while the band's music may not have made the national charts, the best of its singles, "Egyptian Shumba," has emerged as an eccentric cult classic over the years.

The Pennsylvania group, made up of sisters Gretchen, Cathy, and Linda, was championed by fellow pop star Lou Christie, who helped them cut three singles. While the others are standard girl group fare, "Egyptian Shumba" is notable for the sisters' frenetic adolescent vocal style, which includes chorus passages in which the girls simply scream as if they were in a schoolyard.

Their vocals are accompanied by a mock-Middle Eastern instrumentation, and the contrast utterly undermines the apparent attempt at exoticism. The song is simply bags of fun, and danceable too, but put it on at a party and the screams are sure to divide the room.

Listening to it today, it seems unbelievable that The Zombies' "Care of Cell 44" failed to chart in the band's native U.K. in 1967, or in the U.S. on its later release in 1968. The song just oozes that '60s sound, and, like the band's big hit "Time of the Season," has the power to transport you back to that era from its opening bars.

An uplifting pop number that nevertheless deals with the unusual topic of writing to a loved one in prison, "Care of Cell 44" has been compared to the work of The Beach Boys' Brian Wilson and The Beatles' Paul McCartney, both obvious influences on The Zombies' songwriter Rod Argent. The song has an ambitious arrangement, with multiple bridges and purely a cappella harmonies that burst again and again with rousing hooks featuring full instrumentation. Argent's voice is as pure, warm, and melodic, while Chris White's exceptional bass performance gives the track an irresistible groove. 

"Care of Cell 44" is a hit that never was, but it gained popularity the following year after the success of "Time of the Season," which revived the fortunes of the band just as The Zombies were about to call it a day.