A little departure from the "era on drugs" motif to look at my idea of purity and silken-voiced goodness, Petula Clark. She rode the crest of the Swinging London groove, with the help of a songwriting team that fancied itself the British version of Bacharach-David. That team didn't have similar enduring renown, but Pet was as solid a muse as Dionne Warwick was for B-D. This song, Downtown, broke Pet big, almost as big as the hairstyles she and the women in the audience had.
Here's my personal favorite, Don't Sleep in the Subway. This was in Italy in 1968, when Pet was already pretty much an anachronism.
And the same song from 2008, when Pet was even more of an anachronism. And no, Pet was not a nuclear-glowing ghost...I think.
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