03-1999 / Glen Campbell

It's 1968. Imagine you're Glen Campbell and you just cut the vocal to Witchita Lineman. Outside might be solid L.A. smog, but here in the studio, the best studio in town - Gold Star - things are looking and sounding pretty sensational. Hell, the song's fade-out sounds better than anything on the chart; this is pop sophistication. At the age of 31 at last, you'd probably be thinking: 'this is it, I'm on.'

In a way Glen was always 31. Look at him as a young man with the Beach Boys when he filled in for Brian Wilson. O.k. he's cooler than Mike Love or Al Jardine, but so's anyone. Compare him to Dennis Wilson's easy-going sex karma and he looks uptight and a little bit square; square-jawed and square-unhip. I can't imagine Dennis would have let him hang out at one of his freaky sex parties up in the Canyon, he looks so inhibiting. And maybe even Glen knew that this wasn't his time; too middle-aged looking to be young, soon he'd be young and glamorous middle-aged.

'Witchita Lineman' is maybe the greatest ever pop single, and it wasn't any accident that Glen Campbell was the singer. Because to truly deliver a song as complex as that takes a certain style, and by 1968 that style was Glen's trademark. 'Witchita Lineman' is the epitome of mid-60's swoon pop sophistication, with an understated vocal that takes the listener right out to the line, where Glen hears his woman singing to him on wind-blown wires. Incredibly this was just one part of a trilogy of almost equally good songs, the others being 'Galveston' and 'By The Time I Get To Phoenix', which although penned by hyper-literate whizz-kid Jimmy Webb, effectively became 'Glen's songs'. What he brought to these miniature dramas was a smooth deep vocal tone and a jaded adult morality which seemed to say that it was perfectly natural to sneak out on your partner in the middle of the night.

Glen had paid his dues and didn't the listener know it. Each regret-tinged note established the kind of man he was; a man who'd suffered his share of rejection and hurt in failed relationships, divorce, and hits that hadn't hit. America was coming down and Glen was the voice of experience - marriage, infidelity and divorce; he made it all seem groovy. Of his white male peers the only serious competition was Charlie Rich or Elvis Presley who seemed to be hitting similar moods in songs like 'San Francisco Is A Lonely Town' and 'Suspicious Minds'.

At 31 Glen was hot. Not only could he play, sing and arrange hit singles, but he even started to look pretty handsome. He was getting into films, had his own t.v. show and was hanging out with beautiful women like Bobbie Gentry who let him sing on her gorgeous 'Mornin' Glory'. As Glen became more successful and naturally funkier, he chose to show it by growing his sideburns a little bushier, while his flared trousers, cautious at first, soon became full-blown fashion disasters. By the time he was hitting big with 1975's 'Rhinestone Cowboy", this look had almost certainly crossed over into the area of unintentional campness which was just about right for that kitsch classic.

It's time to salute Glen Campbell, and EMI have just released the most comprehensive document of his best work yet: Glen Campbell, The Capitol Years 65/77. It even includes rare Brian Wilson composition, 'Guess I'm Dumb'. Compiled by Saint Etienne's Bob Stanley and Pete Wiggs, it's a fitting tribute to a true American original.

Stephen McRobbie