I don’t know exactly when it happened, but at some point in my lifetime, “lo-fi” went from being an adjective to being a genre. By the mid-1990s, artists were making a conscious decision to eschew the pristine, high-tech production associated with major label music.
They recorded on more straightforward, older equipment. They wouldn’t sweeten the mix in post. The rough edges were left in place. It was kind of like farm-to-table for the music industry.
But before it all happened, plenty of rock bands were already doing just that. It was by necessity, not by choice. These bands didn’t have the money, the experience, or the talent to create walls of sound. They just had a few guitars and a drum kit. Hopefully, they had at least one kid who could sing on key, but even that was considered non-essential. Mostly, they just needed the proper attitude and will.
Oh, and in the 1960s, they needed one more thing. One of the band members had to have access to a garage. These bands played garage rock – the original lo-fi music.
Garage rock classics turning 60 years old
Garage rock was just a blanket term. There were offshoots. For instance, if the garage was in view of a beach, the band was probably playing surf rock. If they cranked their amps loud enough to disturb the neighbors, they were proto-punks, though no one proto-punk was using “proto” back in the ‘60s. Regardless of the flavor, and it helps to imagine this in a Billy Joel voice, it’s still garage rock to me.
The most-recorded track in the history of rock & roll was a garage rock song. The garage rock song, in fact. “Louie Louie” was written in the mid-‘50s by Richard Berry as a simple R&B tune. It was so simple that an obscure band from the northwest, the Kingsmen, was able to record their own ultra-lo-fi version in 1963 and make garage rock a going concern.
“Louie Louie” was like a lot of other early garage rock, born from an R&B impulse. In its immediate aftermath, an even more powerful impulse made its way into garages all across the country. It came from across the Atlantic. The press dubbed it an invasion.
No sooner had the Beatles landed on US soil than every fledgling band began adopting that Merseybeat. R&B didn’t vanish because R&B was in the DNA of Mersey. And like any young, hungry startup, garage rock was young and nimble. If psychedelia was popular on Monday, that’s what the garage bands played. Maybe some folkie got big on Tuesday. Garage bands made sure they had an acoustic guitar on hand. They could adopt many flavors.
By 1965, garage rock had developed into a tidal wave. It was a mostly regional phenomenon. Few garage bands scored national hits, but if you traveled to Cleveland or Minneapolis or L.A. or New York, rock fans in each city would tell you their local bands were the absolute kings of the sound.
There was so much great music created by small gatherings of ambitious young musicians, either in or out of garages, that a sensational, multi-volume collection called Nuggets was created to showcase it.
It being 2025, I thought it would be fun to look back 60 years to when this garage rock phase was just beginning its crest. Here are ten fantastic examples from 1965. You can call it garage or lo-fi, or whatever else you want. Doesn’t really matter. It’s just great, seminal rock & roll.
“Double Shot of My Baby’s Love” by the Swingin’ Medallions
Though their first album wouldn’t come out until 1966, the Swingin’ Medallions released the original version of this Cyril Vetter/Don Smith song as a single in ’65. It had already been done by Dick Holler & the Holidays in 1963 but didn’t go anywhere. The Dick Holler version has a nice breezy quality but it doesn’t have the raucous joy that the Medallions gave it.
That’s the garage element – a bigger drum fill, a much more pronounced organ riff, and a bunch of guys just kind of making noise. BTW – this subject matter raised a few eyebrows in 1965, but would be the subject of a helpful article in Glamour Magazine 47 years later – should you need any tips on how to score a double shot the way the Swingin’ Medallions did.
“Dirty Water” by the Standells
I hope it won't ruin Boston sports fans' enjoyment of this song, which is ubiquitous at Beantown sporting events, but this ode to the River Charles was written and performed by some dudes from SoCal, most of whom had never been to Boston before they recorded it. Still, it has the gruff, street-smart vocals of Dick Dodd and the harmonica solo from guitarist Tony Valentino. That’s garage – when it comes time for the guitar player's solo, he grabs his harmonica.
“She’s About a Mover” by the Dir Douglas Quintet
The locomotive beat and Vox organ set up the big blues vocal of Doug Sahm. Sahm wrote the song, using about 75 percent of the Coasters’ “Searchin’” with a little bit of Ray Charles’ “What I Say” for good measure. The Quintet was always eclectic, mixing Texas blues and country with a conjunto rhythm. Sahm plays some wild guitar at the very end while Augie Meyers keeps things on track with his organ.
“Liar, Liar” by the Castaways
They came out of Minneapolis in 1963. That date is important because it undercuts the popular assumption that they were named for Gilligan’s Island, which didn’t premiere until the following year. TBH – I have no idea where the name came from. “Liar, Liar” was their only hit but it made a pretty good impact in the ‘60s.
Its organ and confrontational attitude fit well with the counter-culture protests of the late ‘60s. The one truly enduring thing about the song is guitarist Robbie Folschow’s falsetto: “Liar, Liar, pants on fire—Your nose is longer than a telephone wire.”
“I Want Candy” by the Strangeloves
The big beat of a bass drum kicks off this infectious pop hit. It is soon joined by a surf guitar riff and sax. Then the vocals begin – simple lyrics equating, as Marcy Playground would more than 30 years later, sex and candy. The thing is, I’ve never been sure who is playing or singing anything because the Strangeloves - a trio of songwriters named Bob Feldman, Jerry Goldstein, and Richard Gottehrer – used session players both in the studio and at live shows to play and sing.
Meanwhile, the three New York songwriters pretended to be Australian brothers in order to be identified with the British invasion without having to master British accents. They put out a few more songs but decided to end the ruse and continue writing, where they had long, successful careers.
“Keep on Dancing” by the Gentrys
“Keep on Dancing” was the Gentrys' one big hit, and as befits the title, it was a solid dance tune with its fast shuffle and organ interludes. There’s one little piece of trivia that makes this a totally awesome song, at least for anyone who grew up as a fan of pro wrestling. The high, slightly nasal lead vocals are supplied by a 21-year-old by the name of James Ray Hart. He would be better known in his post-music career as the Hall of Fame wrestling manager, the Mouth of the South, Jimmy Hart.
“Lies” by the Knickerbockers
You can argue about what band did the best Beatles’ impression all you want. For the late Beatles, I’ll go with Tears for Fears’ “Sowing the Seeds of Love.” But if you were recording in 1965, you didn’t know what the late Beatles would sound like. So you probably would have done a song like “Lies.” It’s a testament to how dominant the lads from Liverpool were that a band from Bergenfield, New Jersey, would go to such lengths to mimic them.
“Find My Way Back Home” by the Nashville Teens
I probably don’t need to tell you that the Nashville Teens did not hail from Nashville. They came from about 4,00 miles away in Weybridge, a little bit southwest of London. They had scored a big hit in ’64 with “Tobacco Road.” The follow-up had a touch of that same American south groove, but really kind of sounds like the Beatles’ “Another Girl,” which was being recorded at almost the exact same time.
“Can’t Seem to Make You Mine” by the Seeds
The SoCal band fronted by Sky Saxon had a little bit of punk and a little bit of psychedelia, but still fit safely within the garage genre. This was the second of two decent hits they had in ’65. The first, “Pushing Too Hard,” had a more propulsive groove. But this slower burn uses Saxon’s theatrical vocals to much better effect.
“I See the Light” by the Five Americans
Singer David Rabon has a nice controlled desperation and keyboardist John Durrill shows off between verses on his Vox. They would be better known a couple of years later for “Western Union,” a cute little pop breakup tune. But “I See the Light” is better, as both a garage rock song and as a song in general.
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