The summer of 1968 was a volatile kaleidoscope: an era defined by profound social tremor and sonic innovation. While Hendrix was setting stages ablaze with feedback and The Beatles were deconstructing the pop songbook, a curious sound emerged from the AM dials. It was bright, relentlessly cheerful, and surgically engineered for maximum ear-worm potential. It was Ohio Express’s “Yummy Yummy Yummy,” a declaration of pure, unadulterated, adolescent lust disguised as an anthem to ice cream and milkshakes.
The song is often dismissed, filed away as a novelty, a prime example of the disposable confection that dominated the early ‘bubblegum’ genre. But to write it off is to miss the true genius—and the fascinating deception—at its core. This single, released on Buddah Records, wasn’t merely a fluke; it was a perfectly executed strategy by the Svengalis of Super K Productions, Jerry Kasenetz and Jeffry Katz. The sound was meticulously calibrated to connect with a younger, post-Beatles audience hungry for fun. It did not belong to the band whose name graced the label, an Ohio-based touring group who, as many sources note, contributed absolutely nothing to their biggest hits. Instead, this piece of music was conceived, written by Joey Levine and Arthur Resnick, and recorded by a crack team of anonymous New York session musicians, with Levine himself providing the utterly infectious lead vocal.
The Anatomy of a Perfect Sugar Rush
The track clocks in at barely two and a half minutes, a testament to its concise, urgent mission. From the moment the song kicks off, it establishes a bright, slightly abrasive texture that cuts through the typical AM radio murk. The arrangement is fundamentally simple, relying on a robust rhythm section—drums driven by a tight, clipped sixteenth-note pattern on the hi-hat, and a bass line that walks with a joyous, uncomplicated spring. It’s the sonic equivalent of a cartoon character skipping.
The harmonic bedrock is set by the piano and a lightly distorted rhythm guitar. The piano pounds out a driving chord progression that provides the track’s essential rhythmic pulse, while the guitar offers a bright, slightly crunchy strumming texture—neither instrument is flashy, but both are indispensably functional. There is a total lack of pretense, an eschewing of the psychedelic excess common in 1968 for a deliberate, almost childlike simplicity. The producers understood that maximum catchiness required maximum clarity.
Levine’s vocal delivery, particularly the famous refrain, “I got love in my tummy / And I feel like a’lovin’ you,” is the final, undeniable hook. It’s sung with a nasal, slightly frantic enthusiasm, perfectly embodying the breathless excitement of a teenager in the throes of first crush. The layered backing vocals, chanted in a call-and-response style (“Yummy, yummy, yummy!”), are so central to the track’s identity they function almost as another instrumental line.
Career Context: The Studio as The Star
This album track—it was the opener on the 1968 Ohio Express LP, though it was, first and foremost, a single—stands as the definitive moment in the career arc of the brand named Ohio Express. It vaulted high into the charts on both sides of the Atlantic, becoming a massive hit that peaked in the top five in both the US and the UK, and even hit number one in Canada and New Zealand.
But the success was not that of a band suddenly hitting their stride. It was the triumph of a commercial model. Kasenetz and Katz mastered the art of the ‘non-group,’ leveraging the “Ohio Express” name as a vessel for a continuous stream of interchangeable, catchy material—a tactic they repeated with other bubblegum acts. The song’s production is a masterclass in efficiency: bright compression, high-mid emphasis for maximum radio penetration, and hooks stacked like pancakes. When listening to this recording today, particularly on premium audio equipment, the layers of sonic polish reveal the high-level studio craftsmanship beneath the apparent simplicity.
“The magic of ‘Yummy Yummy Yummy’ lies not in its lyrical depth, but in its perfect synthesis of sound and salesmanship.”
In the context of 1968, a year when the youth culture was bifurcating—some heading toward the complex arrangements of Sgt. Pepper’s or the heavy blues of Cream, others toward accessible pop—“Yummy Yummy Yummy” drew a sharp line in the sand. It affirmed the existence of a massive, underserved demographic for whom the drama of Woodstock or the counter-culture’s grit meant nothing; they just wanted a song that made them feel good, fast.
The Enduring Appeal and the Cultural Echo
There is a subtle melancholy in revisiting this kind of hyper-commercialized, ‘manufactured’ pop. It’s a reminder that music’s primary function is not always art, but sometimes, merely delight. The track’s straightforward rhythm, its bright sonic palette, and its sheer conviction of happiness create an auditory space that is immediately welcoming.
Today, the song pops up ubiquitously, often deployed in film and television to instantly signify a kind of naive, late-60s joy. A few years ago, I was helping a friend move his massive vinyl collection, and we paused when we pulled out a pristine copy of this single. We put it on, and the infectious groove filled the dusty apartment. It’s a sonic artefact that transports you to a simpler mental landscape.
This short, punchy single has another powerful legacy: for countless aspiring musicians, its very simplicity was an invitation. Many a young guitarist first learned the basic I-IV-V progression by slowing down this track, a stepping stone before tackling more complicated rock structures. The song proved that pure, unadulterated melodic energy could win on the charts, regardless of cultural gravitas. While it is certainly a saccharine treat, it is a deeply significant artifact of the late 60s pop landscape. It set the stage for much of the factory-line pop that followed. Give it a proper re-listen, and try to resist that grin.
Listening Recommendations
- 1910 Fruitgum Company – “Simon Says” (1968): Shares the same Super K production team and bubblegum ethos, built around a similar simple, infectious chant.
- The Archies – “Sugar, Sugar” (1969): The chart-topping apotheosis of the cartoon-band concept, with a smoother, slightly more polished arrangement.
- Crazy Elephant – “Gimme Gimme Good Lovin'” (1969): Another successful studio-only single from the same era, featuring a comparable punchy, garage-tinged rock rhythm.
- Tommy James and the Shondells – “Mony Mony” (1968): Exhibits the same kind of frenetic, repetitive energy and simple, celebratory lyricism aimed at the teen dancefloor.
- The Lemon Pipers – “Green Tambourine” (1967): A slightly earlier track that bridged psychedelia and bubblegum, sharing the bright, joyful sound but with fuzzier textures.