The vinyl lands with a soft, final thud on the platter. The needle drops. A low, subterranean growl of bass cuts the silence, an almost industrial sound that vibrates in the chest before it ever hits the ear. This is not the clean, compact sound of Abbey Road in 1969. This is the sound of a band demanding to be heard, carving their space out of the male-dominated rock landscape, one razor-sharp riff at a time. The band is Fanny, and the year is 1972, though the song—a cover of The Beatles’ “Hey Bulldog”—is often misattributed by its single release year of 1971 in some quarters. Its actual home is on their third, arguably most focused album, Fanny Hill.
Fanny Hill arrived in February 1972, the highly anticipated follow-up to their minor chart success with the title track of Charity Ball. By this point in their career arc, Fanny—led by sisters June and Jean Millington, with Nickey Barclay on keyboards and Alice de Buhr on drums—was the first all-female rock act to sign with and release a full album on a major label, Reprise Records. Yet, despite being championed by luminaries like David Bowie and George Harrison, and working with top-tier producer Richard Perry (who helmed their first three LPs), they constantly battled the industry’s ingrained sexism. Their virtuosity was often overshadowed by the novelty of their gender. They were players first, a fact this piece of music slams home with every electrifying second.
The Sound of the Snarl: Deconstructing the Arrangement
The song begins in an entirely different sonic world than the Beatles’ original. Where Lennon’s track is punchy and psychedelic, Fanny’s is built on a foundation of pure, rumbling grit. Jean Millington’s bassline, a simple, cyclical descent, is the anchor. It’s mixed high and hot, driving the entire structure with a menace that feels less playful and more confrontational. The texture of her bass is a warm, woody fuzz—the antithesis of the period’s clean West Coast tones. It suggests the instrument was mic’d in a small, lively room, capturing the movement of air, the natural decay, a feel that would appeal greatly to anyone invested in premium audio experiences.
The drum work from Alice de Buhr is deceptively complex. She doesn’t just keep time; she creates a percussive conversation with the bass. Her fills tumble across the toms, Ringo-esque in their eccentricity, yet delivered with a heavier, Bonham-like impact. The dynamics are constantly shifting, pulling back for the verses, then hitting a glorious, cymbal-smashing catharsis on the chorus. This rhythmic tandem proves instantly that Fanny was a complete band unit, not just a frontwoman and a backing group.
The Millington-Barclay Synergy: Guitar and Piano at War
The vocal harmony, shared across the group, is initially tight and sardonic, perfectly capturing the original’s cryptic, biting energy. But it is the instrumentation that truly transforms this cover from homage to statement.
June Millington’s guitar work here is nothing short of revolutionary. Her initial riff is a stripped-down, snaking counter-melody to the bass, built on a distinctively raw, overdriven tone. The timbre is sharp and metallic, devoid of excessive pedal manipulation—she simply found the sweet spot between a great vintage amp and a powerful guitar. The true moment of brilliance arrives during her solo. Harrison’s original solo was a taut, contained burst of melody; Millington’s is pure, glorious, screaming catharsis. It starts with a bluesy slide and then escalates into a frenzied, wailing exploration of feedback and bent notes that spans the neck. She pushes her instrument right to the edge of chaos, articulating a feeling of pent-up energy released. It’s a sonic microcosm of the band’s struggle and triumph.
Meanwhile, Nickey Barclay’s piano is the dark horse of the arrangement. Her keyboard part, often overlooked in the face of the screaming guitar, adds a crucial harmonic darkness. She employs a thick, slightly detuned sound, adding a bluesy, pub-rock weight to the chords. It’s not a flashy solo piano piece, but an integral part of the rhythm section’s engine room. On Fanny Hill, Richard Perry reportedly made production choices, including adding brass and strings to some tracks, that the band later admitted they were not entirely happy with. On “Hey Bulldog,” however, the core rock band arrangement is left uncluttered, allowing the power of the four musicians to shine through. The production, famously recorded at Apple Studios with Beatles engineer Geoff Emerick assisting, feels simultaneously gritty and clear, capturing the analog warmth of the era.
“Fanny took a track about existential snarl and turned it into an anthem for breaking down the walls of expectation.”
A Micro-Story and Legacy
Think of a garage band practice space on a hot summer afternoon, fifty years later. A young musician, weary of trying to find decent sheet music for complex funk arrangements, stumbles onto this recording. The band they’re in—maybe a trio, maybe a quartet—is struggling to find its voice, struggling against the current trend of polished, over-processed pop. They play this Fanny cover. Immediately, everything clicks. The simplicity of the riff, the raw-nerve scream of the solo, the undeniable, bone-deep groove of the rhythm section—it becomes their new manifesto. They realize that technical excellence isn’t about complexity; it’s about conviction.
Fanny took a track about existential snarl and turned it into an anthem for breaking down the walls of expectation. They were not a novelty. They were a force. Their cover, with its added lyrical touches and unrestrained fire, is ultimately superior to the original, precisely because it is more desperate, more aggressive, and more alive.
When the song fades out, the final, echoing crash of the cymbal leaves a palpable silence. It’s a silence that demands you flip the record, or at least go hunting for more of their work. Fanny’s lasting impact is undeniable, serving as an unseen blueprint for decades of female musicians who dared to plug in and play loud. This single track, a lightning-strike cover tucked into their third album, remains a powerful, perfect artifact of an underrated band at the absolute peak of their power.
🎧 Listening Recommendations (If You Loved This)
- The Runaways – “Cherry Bomb” (1976): For the same brand of teenage-fueled, unapologetic hard rock energy and driving rhythm.
- Suzi Quatro – “48 Crash” (1973): Shares the tough, glam-infused, bass-heavy stomp and vocal attitude.
- Big Brother and the Holding Company – “Piece of My Heart” (1968): Captures the raw, blues-rock power and emotional, unvarnished vocal delivery of a pioneering female-fronted group.
- Deep Purple – “Highway Star” (1972): To hear another masterclass in the dynamic interplay between screaming lead guitar and driving keyboard/piano accompaniment.
- Sly and the Family Stone – “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)” (1969): Offers a similar, irresistible low-end groove with heavy, deliberate bass and funk-rock drumming.
- T. Rex – “20th Century Boy” (1973): For the aggressive, stripped-down simplicity of the core electric guitar riff and swaggering attitude.