Either Capitol Records was exceptionally hard up for decent songwriters in 1961, or their “Songs Without Words” contest was one of the most dream-fulfilling opportunities ever to hit the record-hoarding public. American Idol for songwriters, and some 41 years prior, Capitol’s “Songs Without Words” contest was an unprecedented marketing ploy that boasted a $500 advance against royalties for publication rights to the Better Homes & Gardens reading, fuel pump-changing, plastic hat-wearing, Leave it to Beaver-style, June and Ward Cleaver-minded entrepreneur with aspirations for stardom, and a little free time on their hands.
The skinny, in a sleeve-shaped nutshell is this… all the enthusiastic, future Paul Simon had to do was acquire the “Songs Without Words” contest album (Capitol Records T-1601 and ST-1601, mono and stereo respectively), listen to the ten, instrumental tracks of varying genres (6x popular, 2x Country & Western, and 2x Rock ‘n’ Roll), isolate the one, don’t mess this up or your future is doomed track that spoke to the lyric-writing demon inside of them, and print or type their lyrics in the space provided on the entry blank located on the back of this sleeve (sleeve desecration was required, and scissors were necessary for cutting along the printed, dotted lines).
Entries were, quite stylishly, judged against three separate categories, each based on a 33 1/3 point system (all totaling 99.9 possible points… I see what you did there, 1961 Capitol Records. Kudos to you!) based on the following:
– Appropriateness and suitability (the manner in which the structure and content of the lyrics fits the melody)
– Composition, distinctive style and poetic flair
– Commercial appeal (suitability for presentation to today’s listening audiences)
Apparently nobody (on the internet) knows who any of the 10 winners with executive-pleasing lyrics were, but little forgotten moments in record publishing history like this are certainly entertaining to discover on an otherwise, calamitous Thursday morning.
Perhaps I offer too much attention to something as trivial as a record insert… perhaps I should just slap myself in the face for questioning this practical, record-saving, overly simplistic, introverted device (folded piece of paper) that offers a blank canvas for throwaway designs of yesteryear. Somebody designed this insert. Furthermore, someone paid someone to design it, and somebody probably rejected 24 previous versions before signing off on this teal, squared off lasso of reoccurring R’s (they kind of look like a series of interconnected R’s, right, or is that just me?).
Protect your records in style, and appreciate the nameless, faceless artisan who ingested a plain sleeve, and turned it into subtle, seldom seen art.