Welcome back to The Deep Dive. Today, we're tuning
the time machine to a remarkably specific and
frankly, kind of chaotic moment in music history.
Oh, absolutely. We're looking at a song that
you definitely know, or at least you know the
nursery rhyme that birthed it. But the story
behind how it became a hit is, well, it's wilder
than you'd expect. We are talking about Don't
Let the Rain Come Down, also known as Cricket
Little Man. It is such a fascinating track to
dig into because, you know, on the surface, it
feels like this breeze. Just a catchy folk pop
tune. Right. But when we really look at the source
material, this song is actually a perfect storm
of. copyright confusion, logistical nightmares
involving these massive vocal groups, and a genre
mashup that by all rights really shouldn't have
worked at all. But it did work. And I guess that's
our mission for today's deep dive. We need to
figure out exactly how a song based on an old
English nursery rhyme managed to become a chart
-topping smash hit right in the middle of, frankly,
the most hostile environment imaginable for folk
music. Hostile is definitely the right word for
it. We really have to set the scene here for
you. The date we're looking at is February 19th.
Ground zero. Exactly. Ground zero. If you follow
music history at all, February 1964 is when the
Beatles arrived in America. Yep. They appear
on Ed Sullivan, and suddenly the entire culture
just pivots. The British invasion. Right. The
airwaves are instantly dominated by electric
guitars, mop tops, screaming teenagers. Rock
and roll is completely rewriting the rule book
overnight. Right. Everyone is just losing their
minds over, I want to hold your hand. And then
in walks this group, the Serendipity Singers,
with a song that... Isn't rock and roll. Not
at all. It doesn't have electric guitars. It's
this weird blend of traditional folk and calypso.
It is a massive anomaly. Yeah. It's this folk
calypso hybrid based on a nursery rhyme. And
it's climbing the charts while Lennon and McCartney
are essentially strangling the life out of any
competition. Yeah, it's crazy. It really speaks
to how diverse the music scene actually was in
1964, even if, you know, our collective memory
just tends to focus strictly on the British invasion.
So let's unpack this. I think we have to start
with the source material of the song itself.
Because the lyrics aren't new, I think most people
listening probably heard this rhyme before they
could even walk. Yes. The foundational text,
so to speak, is the traditional English nursery
rhyme. There was a crooked man. Right. You know
the one. He walked a crooked mile, he found a
crooked sixpence, bought a crooked cat. It's
classic stuff. Very Mother Goose. But here is
where we need to get into the weeds of how folk
music actually operates as a business. Because
usually with these really old rhymes, they're
considered public domain, right? Generally speaking,
yes. If a song or a rhyme is hundreds of years
old, nobody owns it. Because the author is long
gone. Exactly. The author is dead or entirely
unknown. You can record it, I can record it,
and we don't owe royalties to anyone. The credit
on the record label usually just says traditional.
Okay, but the version we're talking about today,
the one that hit the charts in the 60s, it didn't
just spontaneously appear out of the ether. Our
sources point to a bit of a, I guess, a prequel
in 1960. That's right. If we track the genealogy
of this specific musical adaptation, we have
to go back four years prior to the big hit. A
singer named Jimmy Rogers recorded a version
of this. And just to clarify for everyone, this
is the pop singer Jimmy Rogers, not the legendary
country yodeler from 1920. Right, right. The
1960s pop singer. Yeah. So he recorded it, but,
and this is important, he released it on his
album At Home with Jimmy Rogers, an evening of
folk songs, but he didn't call it Don't Let the
Rain Come Down. What did he call it? He titled
it Crooked Little House. Crooked Little House.
Okay. Now, looking at the historical records
for that 1960 album, this is where the legal
plot starts to thicken. The liner notes don't
say traditional. They do not. They list two very
specific songwriters. Yeah. Ursel Hickey and
Ed E. Miller. Okay, wait. Why is that significant?
If it's a centuries -old nursery rhyme, how can
Hickey and Miller just claim that they wrote
it? This is a really key insight into the music
business, especially during that folk revival
era. You can't copyright the lyrics of There
Was a Crooked Man. Those belong to history. But
you can copyright a specific musical arrangement
or a new melody or modified structure. What Hickey
and Miller did was they took the raw clay of
the nursery rhyme, and they sculpted it into
a modern verse chorus pop structure. Oh, I see.
They're the ones who added that infectious don't
let the rain come down hook. Ah, so they essentially
built the house even if they didn't manufacture
the bricks themselves. Precisely. In legal terms,
they created a derivative work, and that gave
them a completely valid copyright claim over
that specific version of the song. Which brings
us to 1964. The Serendipity Singers released
their version, which, as we know, becomes the
massive hit. You would assume Hickey and Miller
were thrilled just sitting back and watching
those fat royalty checks roll in. You would definitely
assume that. But this is where it gets messy.
When the Serendipity Singers released their version,
those names, Hickey and Miller, were largely
absent from the initial labeling. You're kidding,
really? Yeah. The initial pressings often credited
the song as traditional, or in some cases, they
credited the adaptation to the Serendipity Singers'
own musical director. It is a classic example
of just how murky folk music copyrights were
in the early 60s. There was this prevailing attitude
in the industry of, oh, it's a folk song. It
belongs to the people. Nobody owns it. That feels
like a massive oversight. I mean, imagine you're
Hickey or Miller. You're driving in your car.
You turn on the radio and you hear your specific
melody, your specific original hook being sung
by this huge group. And the DJ comes on and says
it's an old traditional tune. It must have been
infuriating for them. And obviously it was. legally
actionable. It was eventually rectified, thankfully.
Later reissues of the Serendipity Singers recording
did correct the credits. They finally listed
Ursel Hickey and Eddie Miller as the writers,
but for a very distinct Very lucrative window
of time. The biggest folk hit in the country
was essentially sailing under a false flag regarding
its authorship. Justice for Hickey and Miller.
I'm glad they got their names back on there eventually.
It really just goes to show that even in the
whole peace and love communal folk era, the music
business was still very much a business. Absolutely.
The music industry has never been a charity,
no matter what genre we're talking about. Very
true. OK, so we have. The song's origin and the
copyright drama. Now let's talk about the vehicle
that actually carried the song up the charts.
The Serendipity Singers themselves. A truly fascinating
group. And calling them a group? might actually
be an understatement. Yeah, looking at the notes
here, there were nine members. Nine members.
That is not a band. That is a baseball team.
That's a jury minus the alternates. It practically
is a small village, and you really have to try
to imagine the logistics of that. In the modern
era, you know, we are so used to this solo pop
star or maybe a four -piece rock band. Right.
The idea of a nine -person folk group trying
to get radio play, trying to organize tours,
trying to just physically fit on a stage together.
It's wild to think about. Honestly, how do you
fit nine people on a stage or even worse in a
1960s recording booth? It feels like it would
just be absolute chaos. Like who is in charge
of ordering lunch for nine lead singers? It's
a logistical nightmare, surely. But they actually
had a very specific, very disciplined way of
handling the performance aspect, especially for
their live shows and their TV appearances. How
so? Well, there's this great video. from a special
called My Music Folk Rewind that captures their
stage choreography. They didn't just walk out
and stand in disorganized clump around a couple
of microphones. Okay, paint the picture for us.
How do you organize nine acoustic folk singers
without them constantly bumping into each other's
guitars? They organize themselves into a matrix,
specifically three groups of three. A matrix
of folk singers? That sounds very mathematical.
It was highly structured. Visually, you have
these three distinct trios standing together.
And the arrangement of the song actually leaned
right into that visual structure. Oh, really?
Yeah. Each subgroup of three would sing a specific
verse. So you'd have trio A take the first verse,
trio B take the second, trio C takes the third,
and so on. Oh, that's clever. So you get these
different vocal textures for each verse. It keeps
the listener's ear interested because the actual
tone of the vocals changes every 30 seconds or
so. Exactly. It completely prevents listener
fatigue. And then for the chorus. That massive,
don't let the rain come down hook, all nine members
would join in together. That must have been just
a massive wall of sound. It creates this huge,
incredibly powerful communal vibe, a real sing
-along energy. And we have to remember the context
here. This is right at the tail end. Of the Hootenanny
era in American culture. The Hootenanny era.
Let's break that down for someone who might not
know the term, because honestly, it sounds like
a cartoon character. Fair enough. So just prior
to the Beatles changing everything, there was
a very popular television show called Hootenanny.
OK. And the vibe of this show and the subculture
it represented was very collegiate, very clean
cut. It was all about these big groups singing
together. Lots of audience participation, acoustic
guitars, matching sweaters. Right. Not the gritty
Greenwich Village scene. Exactly. It wasn't about
the brooding, poetic solo artist sitting in a
dark corner cafe. It was about volume and harmony
and smiling. The serendipity singers were perfectly
engineered for that specific hootenanny aesthetic.
So they are maximizing that power in numbers
approach. It's almost like a choir, but cooler.
A choir in turtlenecks, essentially. But they
did something else, too. We touched on it briefly
in the intro, but this wasn't just a straight
standard folk song like Michael Rowe, The Boat
Ashore. They did something to the underlying
rhythm that really set it apart from their peers.
They did. And this is where we have to give a
lot of credit to the group's musical director,
Bob Bowers. Bob Bowers. Right. He is the one
credited with the arrangement of the hit single.
He took this basic folk concept and gave it a
Calypso music -based adaptation. Calypso. Now,
when I think of Calypso in the context of the
early 60s, I immediately think of Harry Belafonte,
Deo, the Banana Boat song. And he is the gold
standard for that era. Yeah. But mixing that
Caribbean syncopated rhythm with a traditional
English nursery rhyme about a crooked man, that
is a phenomenally bold creative choice. Can you
explain syncopated for us? What actually makes
it sound calypso compared to just a standard
folk guy strumming a guitar? Sure. In a standard
march or a very simple folk song, the emphasis
is usually on the one and the three beats. It's
very rigid. Very predictable. Down, up, down,
up. Like a metronome. Right. Calypso shifts that
emphasis. It deliberately puts the accent on
the offbeats. It gives the music a sway, a highly
danceable quality. It makes you want to move
your hips, not just tap your foot. So Bob Bowers
takes There Was a Crooked Man, which historically
is recited in this very stiff, almost marching
meter, and he forces it into this swaying, relaxed
Caribbean beat. Exactly. And along with group
members Brian Sennett and John Madden, who are
also specifically noted in the historical records
in the context of the recording and arrangement,
they managed to make it work seamlessly. Wait,
hold on a second. John Madden. I knew you were
going to stop at that name. I have to ask, are
we talking about the legendary football coach,
the video game icon? We are not. Okay, thank
you for clarifying that. Because I was picturing
the guy with the telestrator drawing yellow lines
over the sheet music. Boom. Tough singing. You
had to hit the high note right here. That would
be an amazing piece of history, but no, this
is a different John Madden entirely. Okay. But
yes, this creative team forged a sound that was
completely distinct. Yeah. It wasn't pure traditional
folk like Peter, Paul, and Mary, and it certainly
wasn't pure authentic Calypso. It was this highly
polished, pop -friendly fusion. And they released
this very polished fusion on Phillips Records.
That's right. It came out on the Phillips label.
The B -side was a track called Freedom Star.
Yeah. And here's a crucial detail. This single
was actually the debut recording for the group.
It was on their premiere album, conveniently
titled The Serendipity Singers. That is a heck
of a debut to come right out of the gate with
a genre -bending nine -voice hit. And we keep
coming back to the date, but it is just so incredibly
significant. Released in February 1964. It really
is the context that makes this chart story so
special. I cannot stress enough how much the
Beatles sucked the oxygen out of the room in
February 1964. I was actually reading about the
Billboard charts from that specific window of
time. At one point in early 64, the Beatles famously
held the top five spots on the Billboard chart
simultaneously. It was an absolute monopoly.
They were an unstoppable cultural force. So for
a debut folk group singing a nursery rhyme with
acoustic instruments to break through that impenetrable
wall of noise, it's a huge testament to how undeniable
that hook was. So let's look at the actual numbers,
because breaking through is probably an understatement.
This thing wasn't just a minor blip on the radar.
Not at all. It was a legitimate smash. In the
United States, it reached number six on the Billboard
Hot 100. Number six. Top ten. In the era of the
Beatles. That is incredible. It is. And if you
look at the adult contemporary chart, it went
even higher. It hit number two. Okay, that makes
a lot of sense. The teenagers are all screaming
for Ringo and Paul, but the parents, the parents
are probably finding the Beatles a bit loud,
maybe a bit scary. Exactly. The Serendipity Singers
offered a safe harbor for adult listeners. It
was upbeat. It was melodic. You could clearly
understand every single word of the lyrics. It
appealed to that slightly older demographic that
just wasn't quite ready to grow their hair out
yet. But what's even more interesting to me,
looking at the sources, is the regional breakdown.
Because back then, radio was a lot more fragmented
than it is today. You had local surveys and local
DJs that held massive influence. Oh, absolutely.
The national Billboard chart is an average, but
the local charts tell the real story of what
people were actually requesting on the phone
lines in their hometowns. And in some major markets,
this song wasn't just top 10. It was number one.
Where are we talking? What markets? One of the
biggest was the WLS silver dollar survey. WLS,
that's the big powerhouse AM station in Chicago,
right? Huge station. If you made it to the top
of WLS, you basically owned the entire Midwest.
They had a massive 50 ,000 watt clear channel
signal that you could pick up three states away
at night. Wow. And on that WLS survey, don't
let the rain come down. Hit number one on April
17th, 1964. Number one in Chicago. Take that,
Lennon and McCartney. It didn't stop there. It
also topped the local surveys in Louisville,
Minneapolis and Pittsburgh. So it had this incredibly
broad appeal across the Midwest and the industrial
north. It really resonated with working class
folks in those cities. And it wasn't just contained
to the U .S. borders either. The crooked little
man went international. He certainly traveled.
The single reached number seven on the CAJM hit
parade in Canada. And it went all the way across
the globe to New Zealand, where it hit number
six on the leverhead parade. That is massive
reach for a debut single about a crooked house.
It really proves that a good melody is a good
melody, regardless of where you are in the world.
And regardless of genre, too. And that brings
us to the lasting legacy of this song. Because
once a song hits that level of absolute ubiquity,
other artists start eyeing it. It becomes part
of the standard repertoire. The covers. Who else
decided to take a crack at The Crooked Little
Man? Well, keeping with the whole folk revival
theme, the Brothers Four covered it. They put
it on their album, More Big Folk Hits. Which
makes sense. That's right in their wheelhouse.
There were direct competitors, essentially. Exactly.
It's like Coke and Pepsi. If one has a hit flavor,
the other is going to release their own version
of it. But then you also have Trini Lopez. Trini
Lopez. The guy who did If I Had a Hammer. Right.
He included it on his record, The Folk Album.
which came out in 1965. And Trini Lopez is such
an interesting figure to bring up here because
he already straddled that line between folk and
Latin pop. He was famous for playing at PJ's
in Hollywood, doing these incredibly high -energy
go -go sets. So for him, the calypso element
of the song was probably the main selling point.
100%. He could lean into that syncopated rhythm
even harder than the Serendipity Singers did.
It was just a perfect natural fit for his performance
style. It really does seem like a song that can
shapeshift. It can be traditional folk. It can
be pop. It can be calypso. It can be Latin infused.
That fluidity is the key to its survival. A very
rigid song usually doesn't survive interpretation
well. But a simple, highly structural song like
this one allows the next artist to project their
own unique style right onto it. Yeah. And we
really can't forget the UK in all of this. While
the Serendipity Singers were dealing with the
British invasion over here, the song actually
invaded Britain in return. Did the serendipity
singers hit the charts over there? Actually,
no, they didn't. In the UK, the hit version of
the song was by a guy named Ronnie Hilton. His
version peaked at number 21 on the UK charts
in 1964. So Ronnie Hilton carried the torch across
the Atlantic. It's funny how that happens in
music history. Different artists completely capturing
different geographic territories with the exact
same song. It reminds me of how sometimes a movie
is released with a completely different title
or poster in different countries just to suit
the local taste. It's the exact same principle.
The UK audience already knew Ronnie Hilton. He
was a familiar voice. They didn't know this massive
nine piece American college group. Right. So
Hilton's cover becomes the definitive version
for them. But whether it's Ronnie Hilton, the
Brothers Four, Trini Lopez, or the Serendipity
Singers, that core repetitive hook of don't let
the rain come down is what drives the whole thing.
It really does just stick in your brain. I've
honestly been tapping my foot under the desk
this whole time just thinking about the chorus.
It's a total earworm. It's scientifically designed
to be. So let's bring this all together. We start
with a simple nursery rhyme that's been around
for centuries. There was a crooked man. Right,
just an oral tradition passed down from parent
to child. Then in 1960, Jimmy Rogers records
it as Cricket Little House, and Hickey and Miller
do the heavy lifting on the songwriting adaptation,
turning a simple rhyme into a robust pop song
structure. Laying the legal and musical groundwork
for what was to come. Then, February 1964 hits.
The Serendipity Singers, all nine of them, team
up with their musical director, Bob Bowers. They
speed it up. They throw in a syncopated calypso
beat and they organize themselves into a highly
choreographed vocal matrix. It really was a perfect
storm of arrangement and timing. And despite
the critic confusion early on, Hickey and Miller
eventually get their due. The song travels the
world, hits number one in major markets like
Chicago and Pittsburgh, and miraculously holds
its own against the juggernaut of the Beatles.
It is a classic unlikely success story. But I
think the real key takeaway here, for me at least,
is the absolute power of arrangement. How so?
Dig into that a bit more for us. Well, just think
about the actual lyrics. The cat has a kitten.
The kitten has a mouse. They all live together
in a little crooked house. It's nonsense. It's
imagery written for toddlers. On paper, if you
walked in and pitched those lyrics to a record
executive today, they would laugh you right out
of the room. I have a hit song about a crooked
cat. Yeah, I don't see that meeting going very
well. They just yell next. Exactly. But Bob Bowers.
And the group. They completely changed the delivery.
They took something old and dusty, gave it a
rhythm that fundamentally made people want to
dance, and they used those nine distinct voices
to create a sense of power and excitement. They
proved that you can reinvent a completely traditional
concept just by changing the sonic rap it comes
in. It's not just what you say, it's how you
sing it. And I guess how many people you have
singing it with you. Exactly. They turned a solo
spoken rhyme into a massive community event.
And in 1964, even with the Beatles changing the
entire cultural landscape, people still clearly
wanted that sense of community. You know, it
leaves me with a thought to pass on to everyone
listening. We don't really see this anymore in
music. The idea of a nine person vocal group
having a mainstream top 10 pop hit. It is incredibly
rare these days. I mean, you have K -pop groups,
which are certainly large and highly choreographed,
but in the Western folk or pop tradition, it's
almost extinct. And also just the source material
itself. We talk all the time about sampling in
modern hip hop, which is usually taking an audio
piece of an old record. But this is sampling
a piece of historical culture. Can you imagine
a modern pop star taking Humpty Dumpty or Jack
and Jill, putting a heavy trap beat behind it
and going straight to number one on Billboard?
You know what? We've seen stranger things happen
on the Internet. We've seen 19th century sea
shanties go completely viral on TikTok. Maybe
public domain nursery rhymes are the next big
frontier for pop music. There you go. The next
big trend. Little Miss Muffet featuring Drake.
You heard it here first on the Deep Dive. I will
definitely keep an eye on the charts. If it happens,
we'll have to do another Deep Dive on it. Absolutely,
we will. Well, that is all the time we have for
today. We hope you enjoyed this look back at
the crooked little man and his very unexpected
journey to pop stardom. It was a real pleasure
to revisit. Thanks for listening, and we will
catch you on the next deep dive.