by Kevin Burton
When you move into a house, you see it and feel it in a way all your own. You inhabit that space with your special vitality.
The way others see that space, if they see it at all, may be interesting, but it lays no lasting hold on you.
Fifty years ago I moved into a song that way.
In the early 1970s a producer brought this tune to the Beach Boys. They recorded the song, which had been translated from the French, leaving just a few French words in their vocal. At some length they completed the recording, but decided not to release it.
The producer, who is also a singer and songwriter, tucked it away and later recorded it himself, after getting permission to make some changes. He took out all the French and changed the third verse, eliminating some very dark parts about repeated marital infidelity.
The song was much improved but even the producer was unsure of it and sat on his version.
Then one day while he was considering what song to release next, a paperboy overheard a tape of the song and asked if he could bring some friends over to hear it.
The enthusiastic reaction of the paperboy and his friends convinced the producer, Terry Jacks, to release the song, “Seasons In The Sun” in Canada. The song would eventually top the charts in Canada, Australia and England, and for three weeks, beginning March 2, 1974, sit atop the Hot 100 in the US. It was the only song Jacks ever took to the top 40.
This is all according to The Billboard Book of Number One Hits.
What became Season in the Sun was originally written and performed in French under the title “Le Moribond” by the Belgian poet-composer Jacques Brel in 1961, according to SongFacts.
“The American poet Rod McKuen translated the lyrics to English, and in 1964 The Kingston Trio released the first English-language version. This is the version Jacks heard, which became the basis for his rendition,” SongFacts wrote.
“Le Moribond” means “the dying man” in French. But from the first time I heard Seasons until now, I have never associated the song with an actual death. This despite the repeated lyric “it’s hard to die.”
It’s possible I am the only one who takes it this way. But this was me inhabiting the song, moving in, feeling it and taking ownership.
And, it’s not really hard to die is it? Death is easy. It’s hard to keep on living after a loss that feels like a death, like the loss of innocence, or of that sunny childhood emotional shelter that we all have to leave someday.
I have always understood Seasons to speak of something very precious ending, but not an actual life. By the age of ten, I had figured out that there are many different kinds of death. I had already seen some of them. Now these 50 years later, I have seen more.
The Beach Boys were right not to release their version. It’s horrible! I played it once via Alexa as research for this post. Now I will do my best to unhear it. They didn’t feel the song the way Jacks did, and it shows.
Part of my aversion to the Beach Boys’ version is surely due to my affection for Jacks’ song. But the original third verse written by Brel, which Jacks got rid of, is a soul-crushing downer.
In studying music for fun and for Page 7, I have been reminded how fluky is the nature of having a hit. There are tremendous songs that you and I have never heard of just because the right person didn’t hear them, or a record company had other priorities.
Great as it was, imagine how much greater Motown would have been had Berry Gordy not been so obsessed with Diana Ross.
My point is, sometimes an artist can stumble into the top ten, but by the time you top the charts for three weeks as Seasons did, you know there is something there that speaks to a lot of people.
Jacks’ weary vocal brings pathos is perfect for the song. The echoed introduction lends a lot, as do the angelic background singers. A key change heightens the intensity.
When Jacks sings that he and his trusted friend, “learned of love and ABCs skinned our hearts and skinned our knees,” this is true poetry and it takes me back, almost palpably, to my childhood.
Seasons in the Sun eventually sold more than six million copies worldwide.
“With the money he made from this song, Jacks purchased a boat, which he christened ‘Seasons in the Sun,’” according to SongFacts. “He began sailing up and down the west coast of Alaska and Canada, and had some revelations along the way.”
‘I started to realize that this (the world) wasn’t made by a blob,’ he told SongFacts. “This was made by God.”
“Jacks became a Christian and began a quest to protect nature. He gave up music and became an environmental activist, fighting the Canadian paper mills, which he accused of dumping toxins and destroying forests.”
Jacks will turn 80 on March 29. With Seasons in the Sun he made a huge contribution to the soundtrack of my life.
Page 7 