It's Trad, Dad!

[Eddie Love]

Before he made his mark with his third feature, the masterwork A HARD DAY’S NIGHT, ex-pat American Richard Lester helmed an earlier British pop-music showcase called IT’S TRAD, DAD (released in the U.S. as RING-A-DING RHYTHM.) Even after his later successes this title always languished in obscurity at the bottom of his filmography, one assumed a trivial little programmer without much going for it, certainly lacking the presence of certain mop-top Liverpudlians. Well, I finally caught up with this picture and better than simply a curiosity, it’s an odd and wonderful little gem that I loved.

Produced by our friends at Amicus, the story – such as it is – involves a couple of teenagers in a sleepy little English town trying to put on a show! to stop their town’s mayor who’s on a crusade against the rock-n’-roll and jazz the kids are cranking up at the local coffee bar. Their quest takes them to London where the pair convince a DJ to come to their town with some acts in tow, but that awful mayor does all he can to thwart the progress of the musician’s van. Will they ever make it in time for the show? What’ll the kids do to entertain the audience before the main event arrives? If this all sounds corny, don’t worry it’s served up on knowing wry.

The early 60s fad for coffee bars in the U.K. isn’t the only factor in this picture that might seem alien on this side of the pond. There was also at this time a very curious in retrospect craze for Dixieland jazz that swept some of the nation’s youth at the same time others were going in for rock or rhythm and blues. Dubbed “trad”, as in traditional jazz, I’m not sure how long this lasted, but if you read Keith Richards’ recent autobiography he describes how sometimes fights would even break out between those into Chicago R&B and the followers of “trad”, the passion for the music ran so high. Fortunately there’s no such enmity in the little town in the movie and the kids dig performance from early rock’n’rollers as well as some promiscuously staffed jazz groups as well.

However dated they may sound, I enjoyed each of the musical numbers in this picture. They’re all shot in crisp black and white mostly on soundstages with white backgrounds that’ll be immediately recognizable to any HARD DAY’S lover. But long before the advent of “music television” Lester had mastered a facility for capturing musical performances on film that was vital and lively, however stagy the environment. And he relies more on neatly composed individual shots than the kinetic editing that would almost exclusively come to define this type of thing 20 years on with the proliferation of the music video.



The resulting numbers here are conveyed with wit and polish and, despite the employment of Lester’s own deliberate stylistics, he really brings out the personalities of the performers. In fact, Lester’s genius seems to be not simply his gift at stark compositions of the talent, but by alternating these with close-ups that showcase performer and performance elegantly. It’s almost breathtaking, like live action versions of the great jazz photographs. And he has some nice individual moments, like where he shows the callow young pop performers being backed by session musicians that are much older. And it’s not a punchline, but rather a simple nod to musicianship and professionalism. Later, a clarinet player’s fingering is shot such that a missing fingertip is shown. Everything about this picture may be deliberately trite, but the regard the musicians and performers are held in is unreserved. This is a showcase for talent, no matter how self-consciously trivial the storyline is, and Lester champions the stars and their music with no condescension, only affectionate consideration.

And I came away with a real admiration for a number of acts and bands I’d never heard of and renewed interest in some other timeworn names. For instance, I have no idea who The Brooks Brothers are – outside of men’s wear – they’re one of those acts that were two guys in suits snapping their fingers and singing, albeit in this case somewhat younger and a good bit more smug. But their number, an unexceptional song, is shot through with fun personality. Similarly, the legendary Gene Vincent shows up with little more than a novelty number that manages to really capture his almost punk-ish, surly demeanor. Gary U.S. Bonds also comes across as quite the performer, something I never knew. In each of these instances I imagine if you where to hear the songs in question on the radio, I seriously doubt that you’d sit up and take notice, but watching them performed on film captured in Lester’s austere, time-less aesthetic, they really come alive. (Plus, the birds seen dancing during the Chubby Checker number are unbelievably hot. I guess because black girls were allowed to be sexy and sophisticated in a way their demure white counterparts couldn't.)

Some of the “trad” numbers are the most eye-opening as the players exhibit a lot of wit and some deft musicianship. But my favorite performance is by a singer name Gene McDaniel, a name I only knew as he died the week I watched this. He’s a black American artist who performs a smooth, yet powerful ballad and it’s a great song, marvelously sung. He’s shot in near darkness and overlapping dissolves amid his cigarette smoke that calls to mind Lester’s striking take on You’re Gonna Lose That Girl in HELP. (The film's cinematographer is Gilbert Taylor who would go on to shoot Lester's first Beatles picture as well as many episodes of The Avengers before finally being relegated to some silly George Lucas space opera by 1977.)



The musical numbers make up most of the picture, but the filler story in between delivers some sly third-wall breaking Pythonesques amusement and a kind of anything goes, black-out humor that’s a precursor to the anarchic genius of HARD DAY’S NIGHT. The two young leads are a boy and a girl – the guy looks like a miniature Patrick McGoohan. The girl, Helen Shapiro, a big-haired singing star at that time, is fifteen years old and with a big, throaty voice that could be mistaken for a man’s. When the DJ is delayed, these kids take to the stage and their numbers are both lightweight, but engaging.

This movie is complete fluff and some may see it merely as an exhibition of the hodge-podge UK tastes that were to soon be supplanted (with a later assist from the director himself) by The Beatles. But, there’s nothing wrong with looking back at this forgotten, remarkably eclectic musical epoch even if it is frozen in amber of pure silliness.