Care Of Cell 44. The Zombies. 1968. Date.

Shortly after Care Of Cell 44 was released as a single on Date Records in November, 1967, The Zombies broke up. The single sold poorly, which is thought to have added to tensions already at play among group members during studio sessions that summer for the group’s stunning second record, Odessey and Oracle. One notable source of group discord was a disagreement between songwriter Rod Argent and vocalist Colin Blunstone over how another Argent composition might have been sung. The upside of this conflict was the transformative power it endowed Blunstone. An epistolary tale of a romantic partnership interrupted by incarceration, Care of Cell 44 is as conventionally structured a pop song as any to have emerged from the U.K.; three verses, a chorus, and a bridge. The first chorus appears after an eight beat countdown backed by a Pet Sounds-era multi vocal harmony that falls between the second verse’s final line—“and then you can tell me all about your prison stay”—and Blunstone’s thrillingly sung one line chorus. Before that one liner, Blunstone does something extraordinary; he sings with a velvet rasp, like a loving, mock whisper, without sacrificing a note of vocal clarity in the process. There’s nothing to prepare you for the exhilaration of that sung chorus the first time you hear it, and, upon repeated listenings, when you know what to expect, you’ll still be swept up in the pop artistry of Blunstone’s stirring romantic avowel. His backing accompaniment—Argent on mellotron and harpsichord, bassist Chris White, and drummer Hugh Grundy—perform mostly without flourish, except for White who executes McCartneyesque basslines as if merrily following the dance steps of a writing pen across the page. The difficulty in replicating the mood of happiness into song comes from the ephemeral experience’s extremely personal nature. No two people undergo its shocks the same way, frustrating communication around the recording studio’s collaborative method. Attempting the follow-up to his masterwork, Pet Sounds—the sunniest record in the rock discography—Brian Wilson famously suffered one of the worst creative crises in recorded pop history. Blunstone himself took a year off from music before resuming a recording career under the name Neil MacArthur. Trapping lightning in a bottle evidently explodes the glass and blinds the eyes of the master who dares tame it. Sometimes you do have to live like a refugee.