A week ago, I went to see Burt Bacharach play a show at Jazz Alley. It was a fantastic show, and I wrote a long piece about why. Ever since that night, for reasons that have to do with both it and me, I have been obsessed with the song "Anyone Who Had a Heart," which Bacharach wrote with his lyricist partner Hal David in 1963.
The original recording was sung by Dionne Warwick, and it was an international hit. It has since been recorded innumerable times, by singers of many races, genders, and nationalities. I have a favorite version, and a second favorite, and a handful of guilty pleasures. I also feel strongly about the shoddiness of several versions, and am indifferent to even more. The past week has been an interesting lesson for me in considering the whole "singer not the song" question (spoiler: I think it's actually both), and in the deathless endurance of some songs no matter how many times you listen to them on repeat while singing, crying, or even just folding your shirts.
Below the jump, I weigh in on 20 different versions of "Anyone Who Had a Heart," some of which are well known, but many of which I imagine are obscure to even the most ardent Bacharach/David fan. As with any microobsession, I don't know if "enjoy" is the right word, but here on this Throwbackiest of Thursdays, I invite you to consider one of the best songs ever:
Dusty Springfield (1964). To my ears, the definitive reading of the song, a bar no one has ever cleared, though many have tried. Everything about this performance, produced by Johnny Franz as an album track for Springfield's debut LP, A Girl Called Dusty, and never even issued as a single (presumably too close on the heels of Dionne Warwick's and Cilla Black's huge hit versions) is redolent not only of heartbreak, but of the depravity a broken heart is capable of inspiring. It's full of the kind of naked vulnerability that would be embarrassing if it weren't communicated with such mastery. Shattered and shattering. And she was just 25 years old.
Dionne Warwick (1963 original). This version—recorded during the same session that yielded "Walk on By," no less—was a hit all over the world, and how could it not have been? Still, Warwick's voice is almost too lovely, too fresh, too unseasoned by sorrow to carry the weight of the composition. Though the production is unrivaled, she would sound more authoritative delivering the song in later years (see/hear below).
Dionne Warwick & Burt Bacharach, live in 1996. Twenty-three years later, everything about Warwick's singing, from dynamic range to physical texture, has matured, and her performance of the masterpiece resounds with a depth of sadness that her original (and still classic) rendition couldn't touch.
Dionne Warwick (Live in 2002). Same again, but more so:
Cilla Black (1964). This version (produced by George Martin, who was about to get very busy) ran neck and neck with Warwick's original, edging it out for prominence in England, possibly because Cilla was mobbed up with the Beatles. But despite her belting-to-the-rafters verve, Black at 20 years of age wasn't yet up to the deep sad science of this song. She may not ever have been.
Elvis Costello & Burt Bacharach, live in London (1998). On the heels of their album, Painted From Memory, Costello and Bacharach did a series of concerts that featured their collaborations and a handful of old favorites, including "Anyone Who Had a Heart." Singing for Bacharach pushed Costello's vocal capacity to a new plane, enabling him to utterly shred this song, which he considers one of the greatest ever written. The whole show is excellent, but "Anyone Who Had a Heart" is from 49:15-53:30.
Luther Vandross (1986). You won't catch me disrespecting Vandross's vocal prowess. He sings the hell out of this song, a highlight of his commercial breakthrough album, Give Me the Reason. Still, I can't get around Marcus Miller's production, or the '80s-ified arrangement; it feels a little like the 1983 remake of Breathless, which is not to say "how could you?" but "why would you?"
Petula Clark "Ceux Qui Ont Un Coeur" and "Quelli che hanno un cuore": Clark was Dionne Warwick's labelmate, and hence got the opportunity to record these quickie translation versions for France and Italy (there's also a Spanish version, "Tú no tienes corazón," but it appears to have escaped YouTube's dragnet, which is worthy of respect) using the existing backing tracks while Warwick, Bacharach, and David were busy soaring up the English-speaking charts.
Shelby Lynne (2008). A thoroughly respectable minimalist approach that regrettably strips away a lot of Lynne's organic country soul and robs the song of the melodrama that is its birthright.
Josie Jones (2012). A woman whose career as a backing vocalist includes performances on both Stevie Wonder's Songs in the Key of Life AND Make It Big by Wham lets "Anyone Who Had a Heart" out slowly, the melancholy pouring out with almost agonizing deliberation.
Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons (1965). To call this better than you might expect is not necessarily a massive compliment. What damage is left undone by the lead vocal is more than made up for by the backing vocals. But then the mawkish instrumental bit comes in and suddenly it's clear that no song is performer-proof.
Shirley Bassey (1978), who you'd think would slay this song, turned in a somewhat lackluster rendition of it. Part of the blame belongs to the Valium-esque production, but it's also possible that Bassey's diction is too good, her whole manner too arch and confident to communicate the song's deep sorrow and prostration. George Martin had originally found the song for Bassey in 1964 before ceding it to Cilla Black. Maybe he was right after all.
Linda Ronstadt (1993). It's a little baffling that someone with as many massive hits as Ronstadt could still be considered underrated, but there it is. Her rendition of this song is like the world's saddest bell ringing with perfect clarity through the world's coldest night.
Björk & The Brodsky Quartet, Live at Union Chapel, London (1999). Since I'm apparently the only person left in the world who doesn't revere this particular singer, I feel no compunction about saying she really nails the telltale "so"s in a way that nearly makes up for her revisions to the best part of the song.
Alison Moyet, live on TV (2013). Apparently serenading Ms. Cilla Black herself, Moyet brings a dimension that her host couldn't quite manage.
Ronald Isley & Burt Bacharach, live on PBS Soundstage (2004). A case study in how even a gifted singer can get in the way of a great song.
Olivia Newton-John, live on British TV (2004). A case study in how even a gifted singer can add almost nothing to a great song.
Atomic Kitten (single, 2008). The otherwise objectionable pop music production vogue of the mid-late oughties not only doesn't harm this song, it weirdly serves it. It probably has to more to do with the intrinsic melodrama factor mentioned above than with the specific character of the softcore trio doing the singing (though, in all fairness, there's nothing wrong with them either). Bizarre.
Tim Curry (album track, Read My Lips, 1978). Tim Curry, yet?
