The rain-slicked streets of Liverpool in early 1966 must have felt a world away from the gleaming sonic future of pop. The initial, glorious burst of Merseybeat was fading, dissolving into psychedelia or hardening into heavier blues rock. Amid this shift, two veterans of the scene, Tony Crane and Billy Kinsley, emerged from the disbanded Merseybeats to try their luck one last time as a vocal duo: The Merseys. Their debut single under the new name, a blistering cover of a B-side by The McCoys, would become their defining moment. This piece of music, released in April 1966, was “Sorrow,” and it stands as a brilliant, two-minute-and-twelve-second testament to the sheer power of arrangement and vocal conviction.
I remember first hearing this song not on vinyl, but through a cheap transistor radio, late at night, the static weaving through the brass like a ghostly tambourine. The original folk-rock template by The McCoys was simple, almost mournful, but The Merseys, under the reported guidance of producer Kit Lambert, who was also famously working with The Who at the time, hammered it into something monumental. Lambert, known for his dramatic flair, recognized the raw potential and decided against the original, reportedly stripped-back take, demanding a version with more weight and punch. The result is a sound that crackles with tension, a perfect example of a UK act taking an American blueprint and cladding it in Savile Row tailoring mixed with back-street grit.
The track’s album context is crucial: it wasn’t on an album at all. “Sorrow,” with the B-side “Some Other Day,” was a standalone single on the Fontana label. It was a one-shot miracle, a lightning strike of success for the new duo, peaking around number 4 on the UK Singles Chart and representing their sole major hit. The duo’s career arc pivoted entirely on this release. They were essentially rebooting, attempting to bottle the fading magic of the British Invasion era with a renewed, more polished attack, leveraging their established vocal harmony skills. They didn’t have a full album project to support; they had a single, and it had to be perfect.
“Sorrow” starts with an immediate hook that is less an introduction and more a startling declaration. The sound and instrumentation are instantly denser and more complex than most of their prior work. The drumming, reportedly provided by session ace Clem Cattini, is aggressive, pushing the tempo hard with a restless energy that drives the entire track. However, the element that makes this recording utterly indelible arrives in the eight-bar instrumental break.
The song’s texture changes entirely when the famous bowed bass line takes centre stage. Many sources note the presence of John Paul Jones on bass and Jimmy Page on guitar during this period, even if session details are often fluid. Whether Jones himself or another gifted session player, the bass is bowed, creating a haunting, deep, almost cello-like moan that cuts through the surrounding chaos. It’s an inspired choice, pulling the song from simple pop-rock toward something approaching baroque melancholy, a high-concept flourish right at the heart of a two-minute single.
This moment of controlled, dramatic string work gives way immediately to a brass section—powerful, slightly harsh horns—that scream the melody back at the listener. The Merseys didn’t use subtle, sweeping strings; they used brass as a weapon, a sudden, bright flash of light in the song’s dark emotional landscape. The arrangement turns the song into a mini-epic, a tight bundle of energy that feels like it’s constantly fighting against its own short runtime.
The vocal performance is equally essential. Crane and Kinsley deliver the lines—”With your long blonde hair and eyes of blue”—with a desperation that sells the emotional drama of the lyrics. They aren’t just singing; they are pleading. The tight, almost choked harmony in the chorus amplifies the sense of yearning and frustration. The absence of a noticeable piano part in the main mix foregrounds this vocal grit, allowing the rhythm section and the unexpected orchestral colours to dominate the sonic spectrum. The underlying rhythmic pulse is relentlessly up-tempo, contrasting beautifully with the song’s titular anguish.
The way The Merseys manage this sonic contrast is a masterclass in mid-sixties production. It’s a glamour shot of genuine sadness. The driving rhythm section—the heavy bass line and the explosive drumming—provides the grit, the rock and roll foundation. The brass and bowed bass provide the glamour, the sudden, elevated sheen. This push-pull creates a dynamic tension that makes the song feel bigger than its simple structure suggests.
“The greatest pop songs don’t just express an emotion; they create a perfect, tiny, self-contained world for that emotion to live in.”
The re-appreciation of “Sorrow” often comes through the lens of David Bowie’s 1973 cover for Pin Ups. While Bowie’s version is magnificent—slower, glam-infused, and arguably more famous—it relies on The Merseys’ arrangement, acknowledging its definitive nature. Bowie smoothed the edges; The Merseys left the original’s frantic, slightly rough energy intact, merely augmenting it with sophisticated textures. Listening to the 1966 single on a dedicated premium audio setup is a revelation; the immediacy and separation of the complex arrangement snap into place, showing how much information was packed onto that single groove.
It’s easy to dismiss a one-off hit like this as an anomaly, but “Sorrow” is a pivotal cultural artifact. It showcases the era’s fluid boundaries between pop, rock, and the emerging psychedelic sound, proving that vocal duos could deliver high-impact rock just as effectively as four-piece bands. It also serves as a beautiful demonstration of how a gifted producer and a stellar backing band can elevate a relatively simple song—which had been a B-side—into a bona fide hit. Even today, someone starting guitar lessons could learn the core riff quickly, but mastering the attitude and arrangement complexity takes a deeper dive into mid-sixties UK studio craft.
This enduring hit remains a blueprint for how to cover a song, not just imitating the original, but radically re-imagining its emotional core and sonic palette. The Merseys’ “Sorrow” is a two-minute firecracker of pop architecture: bright, brief, and utterly unforgettable.
Listening Recommendations
- David Bowie – “Sorrow” (1973): The essential companion piece; a slower, glam-rock take that proves the strength of The Merseys’ arrangement.
- The McCoys – “Sorrow” (1965): Hear the original, stripped-down folk-rock version to appreciate the transformative power of The Merseys’ update.
- The Creation – “Painter Man” (1966): Shares the same producer/manager circle and features an equally dramatic, art-pop sense of tension and release.
- The Walker Brothers – “The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore” (1966): Features similarly huge, theatrical orchestral arrangements layered over a core pop song.
- The Move – “I Can Hear The Grass Grow” (1967): Excellent example of British pop-rock that incorporates slight psychedelic textures and strong harmonies of the same label/era.
- The Easybeats – “Friday On My Mind” (1966): High-energy, tightly arranged pop-rock with a similarly relentless, driving rhythm that peaked around the same time.