Sammi Smith “Help Me Make It Through the Night”

The astute reader (of this blog) (is there such a person?) will note that I reviewed Sammi Smith’s “Help Me Make It Through the Night” Mega Records LP on March 19, 2021—and I just went back and read that one (I rarely embarrass myself by deliberately re-reading my old shit)—and I can live with that write-up—in fact, I’ll even recommend it. So why am I reviewing it again? Well, it’s not the same record. As far as I know, there might be any number of her records with that title, seeing how if you have a big country song hit (the title song in question), they’ll repackage it and resell it for as long as there’s good ol’ boys, truck-stops, and honky-tonks. The label is Hilltop/Pickwick, who I guess re-released budget versions of popular records, which you’ll be able to keep finding until the end of time (or as long as there are antique and thrift stores). So how are these records different, and which one is better? First of all, the one I’m writing about now has a blue cover with a pixilated (TV image, or unintentional sci-fi holographic image) portrait of Sammi Smith that is quite beautiful. Seeing how these budget re-releases are often half-assed in the art department, it’s like someone got really lucky—or what I like to imagine—someone really cared. The back cover has four nice black and white photos of her. It’s one of those records where the back cover is literally a big sheet of paper that appears to have been glued on a bit too wetly—or maybe someone has spilled beer on it.

Both are 1970, or ’71 (depending on the release)—and I’ll refer to the other one as Mega and this one as Hilltop—and hope that doesn’t sound too much like a monster truck grudge match. Well, they are close to the same record—they have five songs in common, including the title song, and what was originally the title song (before “Help Me…” became such a big hit, I guess)—which is a great song called “He’s Everywhere.” I’m not kidding—it would be the best song on any country record it appeared on (possibly including this one, depending on how passionate you are about the Kristofferson). “He’s Everywhere” was written by Gene Dobbins and Jean Whitehead—who I know nothing about (after a fruitless five-minute internet search). Well… there’s this tidbit: On an early 1970s David Bowie US tour, goofing on the tour bus, Mick Ronson came up with an “iconic” riff—to which Bowie replied, “What can I sing to that, mate, ’sides ‘I’m a man,’ etc.?” At which point Sammi Smith’s “He’s Everywhere” came on the radio (they were in the South). After stopping at a payphone to call the radio station, Bowie discovered the singer’s identity, as well as the name of the songwriting duo, which was the seed of the lyrics to “The Jean Genie.” Believe it or else. You heard it here first, folks. But anyway, I simply like to imagine them as a Nashville songwriting team who, after a long, successful session, would stop in a diner together and get greeted as “Jean and Gene.”

So, anyway, not the same record. The Mega has six songs not on this one (including “Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down”)—but also, this one (Hilltop) has four songs not on the Mega, including a couple really fine ones—“Isn’t It Sad” and “Then You Walk In.” I mean, they’re all good, but those two are killer (and I’m assuming are on other Sammi Smith records, but I’m not going to look it up). The Hilltop is shorter (only nine songs) and no liner notes—so, if I had to recommend one, I’d go with the Mega. But why not just buy both? They printed a lot of these records, so you can easily find them (they’re the easiest Sammi Smith LPs to find)—and they shouldn’t be a lot of money. I can tell you, right now, where to find this one (the Hilltop) (as well as the other, for that matter) for $3 each—if you’re in Milwaukee—Clocktower Antiques, 1134 S. 1^st Street—the second floor, the guy who’s got a ton of $3 records—in the “Country” section. Actually, my copy (I’m listening to it now) really does sound like someone spilled beer on it—it’s a little scratchy—so I might beat you over there and buy myself a second copy.

Carly Simon “Anticipation”

I’m sure I heard the song “Anticipation” on the AM radio when I was 12 or so—over breakfast with my parents while eating the oats out of my Lucky Charms (saving the marshmallows for last)—and I probably had conflicted feelings, because it’s an undeniable pop-song that no one can resist, really—and only maybe rebel against in retrospect. I’m guessing it gave me goose bumps and made me feel in love—though I don’t remember associating it with the girls I had crushes on the way I did with Tommy Roe, Archies, and Partridge Family songs—but maybe because that was earlier—and this coincided with the beginning of adulthood (like I said, age 12). It was another song I first owned on vinyl via the “Superstars of the 70’s” record I bought via the TV, which was the first (and sometimes only) place I heard a lot of music during that time. “Anticipation” started off side 4 (of 8) and was followed by The Guess Who, Todd Rundgren, etc. Side 4 then ended with “Tumbling Dice”—a song that became my favorite song of all time, for a while (like 50 years). Anyway, I then followed Carly Simon’s career from a distance, I suppose, being an avid Rolling Stone reader—and I probably got turned off due to her immense popularity, and me exploring different musical directions. And of course, there was that Heinz Ketchup commercial, which got burned into your memory for all-time if you watched TV in the Seventies (I watched way, way too much). I think I probably loved that commercial and hated it. Maybe it was even the reason I for my love/hate relationship with ketchup.

I bought an odd Carly Simon record a couple of years ago, just because it wasn’t one I recognized, and I picked up this one, from 1971, recently, because I was surprised I didn’t recognize the cover—it’s a black and white photo that’s blue-tinted with an odd metallic process—I am curious about how it’s achieved—I feel like it might have been unusual at the time. Maybe not. Anyway, in the photo, she’s either opening or blocking a huge gate—you could read a lot into this—and I’m sure that’s what’s intended—say: “I’m attractive and I have cool things! Check it out! Welcome… come on in!” Or, perhaps, more or less the opposite message: “Uh… no. I don’t think so. Over my dead body.” Or maybe even something kinky or sinister (use your imagination). The “answer” photograph on the back cover shows her running through a garden, so… maybe I’m overthinking things, and the gate is just there because it’s the gate at the garden where they took the photo, and it looked cool. In which case they were not overthinking things.

It’s nice record. All songs but one are written or co-written by Carly Simon. “Share the End” is big, orchestral song—a little nutty, like something I like. A lot of the record is quiet, acoustic, pretty. I’m not focusing on the lyrics, maybe another time. For the most part, I don’t focus on lyrics, unless they really stand out, or I feel like there’s a reason to go back and engage in a lot of multiple listenings. I’m not alone there, I’m sure—but everyone is different—your approach to music. The last song on the record is “I’ve Got to Have You,” written by Kris Kristofferson, which is the other reason I came upon this record—I didn’t know that song, but heard Sammi Smith’s version, which is one of my favorite songs she does, so I looked up who else did it. This version isn’t as good, but that’s no criticism—no one is as good as Sammi Smith. It’s interesting, they were born the same year—though at this point, years, time, people’s ages, mean very little. Some are still with us, some aren’t—but these singers, whose voices come alive on this indestructible vinyl, will always be with us.

Sammi Smith “The Best of Sammi Smith”

I’ve said it before—but I pick out records to review using a random system. At one point I had an elaborate process using a deck of cards, which is a lot more romantic than the way I do it now: I have all my records in a spreadsheet, and I use an online random number generator. Still, it works—and the reason I do this is because otherwise, choosing would be paralyzing. Especially considering I own records by people I know—and even a couple I’ve played on. I have favorites, naturally, as well as records I’ve barely listened to. Anyway, lately, there is no one I’ve enjoyed listening to more than Sammi Smith. I only discovered her because I saw one of her LPs at the used store and I liked the cover. I’d never heard of her. Which might seem like, to her fans, someone saying they just discovered Elvis. Yet, that’s what the entire younger, and yet younger, generations have to do with all music. You’re not born knowing it. So, well, I’m just a big fan of Sammi Smith. I’m like the kind person who might travel somewhere to see her, and it would be like a religious experience—that’s music at its best. So, it’s beyond heartbreaking that she’s no longer with us. But then, heartbreak is like my default state, so I can, more or less, revel in the sadness and longing that are inherent in a lot of these classic county songs, while feeling that extra level of longing and sadness, knowing that I am not living on the same plane of existence. It helps/doesn’t help, that ghostly photo on the cover, and the fan-club intimate notes on back—Height: 5 Feet, etc., and including Favorite Food: Soft Tacos with Ortega Green Chili Sauce.

If it sounds like I’ve been drinking—it’s not so—but I just re-read what I wrote about this record the last time I listened to it—I had opened this document, and wrote kind of freely, thinking I’d post something about it, at some point. Well, what I wrote then REALLY sounds like I’d been dri9nkjing. Maybe I was—after all, if I started drinking again, I’d probably be the last to know. Anyway, in my current “sober” state, it’s quite embarrassing. Fortunately, I have to option, and the authority, to just delete the whole paragraph. And thank God. Maybe by the time I finish the review, I’ll have come to my senses and delete the above paragraph, as well. In fact, maybe I’ll delete what I’m writing right now, and start over.

According to online sources, Sammi Smith released her first LP in 1970—which was called “He’s Everywhere”—after the excellent Gene Dobbins/Jean Whitehead song by the same title that sits in the middle of Side Two on this one. Kind of a sick place to put a song that’s so emotional it nearly makes you want to collapse in a heap. Later, that LP was re-released as “Help Me Make It Through the Night,” as that was a huge hit from that album. That Kris Kristofferson song may be one of the best and most well-known songs Sammi Smith has recorded—it’s one of my favorites—and it starts out this collection. She then put out albums in 1971 and 1972, and then oddly, this “Best of” record in 1972. Is it odd to put out a best of record that soon? Not when it’s this record.

All ten songs are excellent, of course, but—besides the above— particular other favorites here are: the Janette Tooley song, “When Michael Calls” (weirdly, there’s a horror movie with that name, starring Ben Gazzara, from this same year). “Teardrops in My Heart,” by Vaughn Horton, is a great one—a heart metaphor I wouldn’t have thought of. Also, “For the Kids,” by Shel Silverstein (someone I actually was in the same room with). “Then You Walk In,” a song by David Malloy and Johnny Wilson, would be a hit for anyone—but especially this version. My very favorite on this record, though, is another Kris Kristofferson song, “I’ve Got To Have You,” which was a hit for Carly Simon—and I love Carly Simon, but this version is 100 times better. It’s probably my favorite Sammi Smith song, at this point, and that means it’s my favorite song in the world on this otherwise bleak Tuesday in February 2022.

Sammi Smith “Help Me Make It Through the Night”

Not long ago, a year or two—who can keep track of time—I had never heard of Sammi Smith—believe it or else. Had I heard the name, I might have thought it was the young English singer, or the old English brewery. I came across one of her later albums and bought it out of curiosity—and it was great, so I bought a few others, including this, her first LP (another one from the magical year, 1970), which was originally titled “He’s Everywhere,” but changed, I guess, when her version of the Kris Kristofferson song, “Help Me Make It Through the Night” became a hit. It’s a great song, and this is my favorite version of it I’ve ever heard. I like every song on this record—there are some country classics—other standouts include: “Saunders’ Ferry Lane,” “There He Goes,” “With Pen in Hand,” “Lonely Street,” “He’s Everywhere”—hell, I may as well just say “all of them”—and I guess I already did. Sammi Smith’s singing is soulful and deep—I like her voice as much as any country singer I’ve ever heard. She is considered part of the “Outlaw Country” singers—though you wouldn’t necessarily make that association with this record. Maybe it’s the two Kris Kristofferson songs, including “Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down”—with its famous line: “And the beer I had for breakfast wasn’t bad, so I had one more for dessert.” I love that song, and this is, by far, my favorite version of it.

The album cover is low-budget looking—I wonder what the original version looked like. If I see it, I’ll buy that one, too—that’s how much I like this record. There are liner notes by Eddie Rabbitt, who hadn’t discovered the “shift” key, but that’s okay, it’s poetry—actually a kind of beautiful love poem for Sammi. Also liner notes by Kris Kristofferson who, being a Rhodes scholar, uses proper punctuation, and is also a lot more eloquent than my clumsy review, here. I should probably just retype the whole thing he wrote, but I’ll leave you to discover it—if you find this record (it shouldn’t be hard—it sold a lot of copies—and used country records are undervalued). Of course, if you already know this record, you’re lucky. I’m not in the habit, anymore, of spewing reckless hyperbole, since I don’t get paid by the adjective, so when I say that, at this moment in time, this is the record that finds its way to my turntable more than any others, I mean it. If you’re only going to own one country record (that’s sad, but whatever) this is the one. It breaks my heart to know that Sammi Smith passed away (at the age I am now) back on the exact date I played my last live show (ended with a John Prine song) (okay, I’m not sure if it was the exact date, but it wouldn’t surprise me, considering the prankster writing this uncanny script). Sorry to dwell so much on Me, but I’m just trying to figure out why I have such a visceral reaction to this record. But I’m sure it’s not just me. We’ve all had broken hearts—some just more broken then others. Hopefully there’s more to life than that, but here’s your soundtrack for heartbreak breakfast, heartbreak lunch, and heartbreak late-night vigil.

Kris Kristofferson “Jesus Was a Capricorn”

It’s not my favorite Kris Kristofferson record, but it’s got the best title and best cover of any record you’re probably going to see in a thrift-store for a dollar, so there’s really no excuse not to own it. Plus it’s a good record. My favorite songs are, “Nobody Wins” and “It Sure Was (Love)”, but they’re all okay—I especially like the ones that Rita Coolidge is singing on. I guess that’s her on the cover, kind of outdoing KK at the cool look, not any easy thing to do, and I read that they were married not long after this record came out. The back cover is either a clever art department fake of photos pinned to a bulletin-board, or else it’s just a black and white photo of the real thing. The thing is, I didn’t think push-pins were invented yet in 1972—but then, what do I know about history, apparently? There are also some pretty literal liner notes, handwritten and tacked up there, too. It reads as pretty genuine, and one would presume written by KK, but then, the one time I contributed liner notes to a record they claimed to be written by someone else, so who can say what is legit in this slippery show business world? Kids growing up now, who learn how to use Google before they even smoke or cuss, must live in a very different world. For the longest time, when younger, I thought Kris Kristofferson was a fake name or stage name, because—well, he was already larger than life, and it’s kind of a goofy name. But now, he was born Kristoffer Kristofferson. (One wonders if one of his kids is named Kristofferson Kristofferson.) When my parents admitted to considering naming me Russell Russell (Russ) Russell, I thanked them for not saddling me with a Looney Tunes handle. Anyway, it was many years until I took Kris Kristofferson seriously—also, maybe, because there was a time when the only guys with beards were Fidel Castro, Charles Manson, and Santa Claus. Eventually, of course, I realized Kris Kristofferson, who was born the same summer as my mom, was like the coolest dude who walked the Earth, and as of the writing of this, continues to do so. I don’t know if he’s a religious man, but I might consider buying all nine of his records from the Seventies, just because I think it’s interesting that the titles include, besides the name Kristofferson, the words: Devil (twice!), Lord, Jesus, Spooky, Bless, Surreal, and Easter. It may be hard to tell exactly where he’s coming from, but it’s definitely not the vanilla frozen yogurt counter of the Boring, Illinois Safeway.