The year is 1969. The great sonic conversation of the sixties was winding down, mutating into something heavier, more introspective, and decidedly more complex. For a group like The Tremeloes, who had built their post-Brian Poole career on effervescent, perfectly tailored pop hits—the sunny brightness of “Here Comes My Baby,” the pristine harmony of “Silence Is Golden”—this shift presented a profound challenge. They were the architects of accessible joy, but the audience was suddenly demanding depth, texture, and perhaps a touch of existential angst.
You can almost visualize the smoke-filled studio, the tape machines rolling, capturing that pivotal moment when a successful band decides to gamble their identity. This atmosphere of transition is audible in the very DNA of “(Call Me) Number One,” the single released in October 1969 on the CBS label. It was a calculated, brilliant pivot, a self-penned statement of intent by band members Alan Blakley (rhythm guitar/keyboards) and Len “Chip” Hawkes (bass/vocals).
This singular piece of music was not initially part of a core studio album. Instead, it was a standalone declaration, a response to what the band reportedly felt was the declining commercial appeal of their earlier, lighter fare. After the relative disappointment of the preceding single, the group knew they needed to reassert their relevance. The result, peaking at number two on the UK Singles Chart (held off the top spot by the immovable force of The Archies’ “Sugar, Sugar,” a fascinating contrast in itself), proved that the gamble had paid off handsomely. It wasn’t just a hit; it was a reinvention.
The Sound of an Era Turning
The first thing that hits you about the track is the density of the arrangement, a sharp departure from the airy, polished production of their earlier hits, helmed largely by producer Mike Smith. While Smith is credited with producing this track, its sound palette suggests a collective push toward the prevailing atmosphere of late-sixties psychedelic pop, a fusion that owes as much to Abbey Road as it does to Tin Pan Alley.
The texture is immediately rich and layered. It opens with the insistent, almost ominous strumming of an acoustic guitar, soon layered with the celestial drone of a sitar—that ubiquitous, yet often misused, sonic signifier of late-sixties exoticism. Here, it’s integrated with genuine musicality, lending a hypnotic quality to the verses. The rhythm section of Chip Hawkes and drummer Dave Munden is locked in, providing a heavy, almost tribal throb that anchors the entire structure. Munden’s drumming is particularly noteworthy, eschewing the clean, back-beat simplicity for something more complex and driving.
Then there is Rick Westwood’s guitar work. His electric lines are not the chiming runs of the beat era; they are fatter, often drenched in a deep, dark reverb. The piano, credited to Alan Blakley, is used more for percussive texture and harmonic underpinning rather than melodic leads, often doubling the bass line or adding dramatic, arpeggiated tension. This instrumentation—a blend of classic rock band setup with Indian and orchestral colors—creates an atmosphere of yearning melodrama.
The Melodic Core and Vocal Delivery
Despite the sonic ambition, the melody itself remains distinctly Tremeloes. It’s a beautifully constructed song that manages to be both structurally sophisticated and instantly memorable. The verse is tight, propelled by a sense of building urgency, a feeling of pushing against something unseen.
The dynamics are handled masterfully. The vocals—layered and slightly muffled, with a generous application of studio echo—deliver the lyric with a world-weariness their earlier material lacked. The line “I’m not asking for much, but to hold on to your touch” is sung with a vulnerability that cuts through the swirling instrumentation. This contrast between the clean melodicism of the chorus and the heavy, slightly distorted verses is where the song truly succeeds.
In fact, the vocal layering and the use of the studio as an instrument is so meticulous that listening to it on high-fidelity home audio equipment reveals new dimensions of the recording. You can hear the separation of the vocal lines, the precise decay of the reverb on the drums, and the subtle interplay between the sitar and the rhythm guitar—details that elevate it beyond mere chart pop. It shows a band intensely focused on evolving their sound.
The Weight of Expectation
The song title itself—”(Call Me) Number One”—feels almost defiant, a playful wink at their chart success while simultaneously signifying a deeper ambition. They were calling themselves the best, not just in terms of sales, but in terms of artistic relevance. This album-less single represented a break from their reputation as mere pop craftsmen; they were claiming their place in the lineage of serious British rock.
I often think of this track during a specific moment on a dreary afternoon. You’re sitting in a dimly lit café, watching the rain sheet down the window, feeling the weight of the week. Suddenly, the song comes on, and that minor-key intro with the sitar drone hits. It’s a sonic warmth, a flash of psychedelic colour that transforms the mundane gray. It pulls you out of your daily churn and into the deeper narrative of late-sixties aspiration, of bands stretching the limits of the four-minute single.
“The song is a sonic warmth, a flash of psychedelic colour that transforms the mundane gray.”
It is a subtle masterpiece that bridges the simplicity of their pop past with the complexity of the oncoming 1970s progressive rock movement. It’s a crucial entry point for anyone studying the shifting sands of late-sixties pop, demonstrating that reinvention, when executed with genuine musical talent, is always possible.
The Tremeloes proved here that they were more than just a singles band. They were musicians capable of crafting a textured, emotionally resonant work that stands up to the heaviest hitters of the era. The final, sustained chord, ringing out with that distinctive reverb, is the sound of a band successfully crossing a threshold.
Listening Recommendations
- The Moody Blues – “Tuesday Afternoon”: For the blending of orchestrated pop and psychedelic, gentle melodrama.
- The Move – “Blackberry Way”: Shares a similar late-sixties pop sensibility with an undercurrent of minor-key melancholia.
- The Kinks – “Waterloo Sunset”: Exhibits similarly brilliant, self-written melodic structure and observational depth within a pop framework.
- Badfinger – “Come and Get It”: An example of power-pop from the same period that successfully balances strong melody with a heavier rock beat.
- Status Quo – “Pictures of Matchstick Men”: Features the early psychedelic-pop sound of another British band that, like The Tremeloes, evolved its sound dramatically.