Francis’ ‘Souvenirs’ Set: Strong Voice, Weak Vision : CONNIE FRANCIS: “Souvenirs” Polydor Chronicles (* 1/2)

Ah, sweet nostalgia.

I used to love Connie Francis records so much that in 1963 I saved my money to spend $4 on her greatest-hits album rather than use the money to buy five singles--a far safer practice in the days when albums consisted mostly of a couple of hits and lots of filler.

And somehow that vinyl album--with the words “Connie’s 15 Biggest Hits!” emblazoned boldly on its yellow cover--has survived the many trips I’ve made to the Salvation Army and other thrift shops over the years to pare down my collection.

There was something in her voice that made her seem so much more sensual and alluring than the other young female pop singers of the early ‘60s.

And I wasn’t alone in my fascination.

With 35 Top 40 hits, the Newark, N.J., native ranks as one of the two dozen most popular “singles” artists of the modern pop era. Her records have spent more time on the national pop charts than singles by the Bee Gees, Chuck Berry, the Carpenters, Whitney Houston, the Rolling Stones, Prince, Madonna and the Eagles.

So why does much of this four-disc, 120-song boxed set border on the unlistenable? It just goes to show the dangers of a strong voice with no real musical vision.

When Francis’ voice was teamed up with catchy material and arrangements that framed her voice with lush strings and a mild country or rock shuffle, the results were enticing. As all these additional recordings show, however, Francis had no feel for quality control. For every good song she or her advisors chose, they ended up with a dozen inappropriate or hopeless ones--things as stupid as “Robot Man” and as hollow as “Lollipop Lips.”

Born Concetta Rosa Maria Franconero in 1938, she signed an MGM Records contract in 1955. After several undistinguished records (which are included in the set), Francis was on the edge of being dropped by MGM in 1957 when she scored a modest hit, a duet with country singer Marvin Rainwater called “The Majesty of Love.”

Encouraged, Francis’ father came up with an idea that led to the singer’s breakthrough hit. He suggested his daughter take an old pop standard, “Who’s Sorry Now,” and give it a light rock feel. That way, he figured, she could appeal to both the adult pop audience and teenage rock fans.

It worked. The single--which employed some rock ‘n’ roll echo to add a touch of mystery to Francis’ voice--was a smash in both the pop and R&B; fields. Keeping the same focus on melody and rock trimmings, Francis went on to have hits with more standards (“Among My Souvenirs”), teen novelties (“Lipstick on Your Collar”) and country accented numbers (“Everybody’s Somebody’s Fool”).

During a transition time in pop, when many of the ‘50s rock pioneers were on the decline and the Beatles hadn’t yet arrived, it was somehow fresh.

But Francis or her team pushed the diversity of those early hits to extremes, recording songs in all sorts of styles. She did new songs, old songs, ballads, ethnic songs, patriotic songs--from a medley of “Exodus”/”Havah Negilah” to “Bossa Nova Hand Dance.”

Little of it was inspired.

If you pick up one of the single-disc greatest-hits collections, you can see why Francis’ best work seemed so appealing. If you wade through even a couple of the discs here, you can understand why the arrival of the Beatles and genuine musical vision made her irrelevant overnight.

*

Albums are rated on a scale of one star (poor), two stars (fair), three stars (good) and four stars (excellent).