Billy Joel, Piano Man. A great slice of pure Americana.
Johnny Cymbal, Mr. Bass Man, 1963
Bob Dylan, Mr. Tambourine Man, 1964. Philip Larkin is supposed to have called this the greatest song ever written. Don't believe me? See here:
Like Thwaite, Hartley is insistent that Larkin loved women; nor will she go along with the idea of him as a miser. When she won a place at university as a mature student, Larkin, knowing how hard-up Hartley was, opened a book account for her, and placed a fat sum in it. She is full of stories about him: the time they went to see Louis Armstrong together in Bridlington; the time Larkin arrived at a party clutching a bottle of crème de menthe. She reminds me – so unlikely seeming, this – that he thought Dylan's "Mr Tambourine Man" the best song ever written. Larkin, who once described his physique as being like that of a "pregnant salmon", hated dancing, but at departmental Christmas parties, he would be sure to ask every woman in the room to dance: cleaners, caterers, library assistants. No one was left out.
Linda Ronstadt, Different Drum
Eric Clapton, et al., While My Guitar Gently Weeps
Paul Anka, A Steel Guitar and a Glass of Wine Now when was the last time you heard this one?
Sandy Nelson, Let There Be Drums
Dave Cortez, The Happy Organ