Krofft Rock by Becky Ebenkamp

They rival Sherwood Schwartz’ yen for storytelling. They match Pete Townshend’s propensity for composing multiple movements. Yes, a Sid & Marty Krofft theme song is a wondrous thing to behold—as fun as a tipsy talking party hat and more multi-faceted than the eyeballs of Seymour the furry orange spider. Krofft Rock and bubblegum music have more in common than their shared target of youthful audiences. For one thing, each has been charged, perhaps unfairly, with embedding secret, counter-culture messages into the material. While bubblegum has long been linked with sexual metaphors, psychedelic Krofft shows supposedly contained stoner signifiers. In their heyday, rumors circulated that the H.R. in Pufnstuf stood for “Hand Rolled” and that Lidsville was built around a one-note pot reference.

The similarities don’t stop there. Anyone who believes it’s a stretch to lump a group of wildly imaginative children’s shows in with the oeuvre of the Ohio Express and the Archies should consider Exhibit B, the blatant songwriter swapping: Michael Lloyd (the West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band, Cattanooga Cats), Wes Farrell (the Partridge Family), Danny Janssen (Josie & the Pussycats, Scooby-Doo, the Brady Bunch) and Bobby Hart (the Monkees, Boyce & Hart) each wrote material for at least one Krofft show.

It is said that sounds and smells are the best senses for invoking a feeling. But any songwriter intending to match note-for-note the visual intensity of a kaleidoscopic Krofft fantasy world certainly had his work cut out for him. Following are a pair of soundtracks that were aurally on par with the shows they accompanied.

Pufnstuf (Capitol, 1970)
Over the life of the 1969-70 H.R. Pufnstuf TV series and movie, songs were devised to showcase star Jack Wild’s predilection for overly gesticulating his way through hammy, stage-style tunes. This is evident even in the show’s opening sequence, where his character Jimmy is dredged to the shore by Puf’s Rescue Rangers. Waterlogged and appearing inches from death, he forgoes CPR, breaking free and breaking into a little soft shoe for the camera, exhibiting his patented “gotta sing, gotta dance” Broadway boy vibe. James Brown would be proud.

But one has to give Wild credit. Unlike the majority of British Invaders, the former Artful Dodger—along with Davy Jones and Herman’s Hermits frontboy Peter Noone—knew how to fully exploit his Cockney roots. While cronies pledged allegiance to the American acts they adored by aping their non-accents, Wild defied the colonies by refusing to properly pronounce his Rs and thereby upped his status a notch or two on the teenybopper totem pole.

Still, except for the Mechanical Boy episode—which most fans recall and fondly so—tunes for the TV show tended toward the bland and unmemorable. Comprised mostly of olde tyme Shakey’s Pizza Parlor-type numbers with a spoonful of self-help-era lyrics, they served as vehicles for Wild’s limey charm. Then there were throwaways like “Oranges, Shmoranges,” noteworthy only because it was performed by Witchiepoo and her band of monsters in one episode. Also worth mentioning is the more rockin’ and soulful closing theme interpreted by poultry puppet act the Boyds.

Songs for the Pufnstuf film—composed by Charles Fox (music) and Norman Gimbel (lyrics) and released on vinyl—were another thing entirely. Oh sure, many of them still gave Jimmy an excuse to break out into a rousing chorus with the googley-eyed puppet people he encountered on his journey, but even the most rousing tunes were more melodious than those written for the TV show. Some are even downright pensive. The title song is a salute to Jimmy’s large-headed protector (“You’re a dear little dragon/ You’re a personal pal/ When my spirits are draggin’/ Whose tail is waggin’ friendly?”). Harmonica drenched “I‘ve Found a Friend in You” serves as an ode to Freddy the Flute and later in the film, Puf.

While most songs sound large-scale in instrumentation, a closer listen reveals that orchestration is kept to a minimum, for maximum effect. Such as on “I’m a Boy.” A Nilsson-y harmonica and an acoustic guitar line that rivals anything Jagger/ Richards wrote for Marianne Faithfull complement the wistful, aspirational anthem, which is sung by Wild as the camera glides over fall foliage during the film’s opening credits. Those lazy Rs seem less gimmicky in the heartfelt haikus, which detail pre-Puf’d Jimmy’s dreams of transcending the trappings of childhood:

If I could I would be
A giraffe [“giwaffe,” actually]
With my head above the trees

So at big parades
I could see
If I could

If I could I would be
Old and wise
Knowing all there is to know

Then I’d answer right
Every time [voice appropriately cracking]
When they ask

You can almost smell the trees circling above in one effective shot where the camera peers up at Wild and his surroundings, making him appear 10 feet tall. And finally, Mama Cass Eliot—as Witchiepoo rival Witch Hazel in the film—belts out “Different,” a song that purports to elicit sympathy for the misunderstood witches’ condition while also teaching kids to make their own kind of music:

When I was smaller and people were taller
I realized that I was different
I had a power that set me apart
I learned to take it and used it to make it
It’s not so bad to be different
To do your own thing and do it with heart

Different is hard
Different is lonely
Different is trouble for you only
Different is heartache
Different is pain
But I’d rather be different than be the same

It’s hard to imagine whether this tune would have soared so had it not been relayed through the clarity of Cass’s confident pipes; nor was there an artist who could sing the lyrics with more conviction.

The Bugaloos (Capitol, 1970)
Joy, Courage, Harmony and IQ—the fantastical foursome known collectively as the Bugaloos—promoted the beauty of nature and touchy-feely’70s platitudes in a very Jonathan Livingston Seagull sort of way. So powerful was the Bugaloos’ message, it was rumored at the height of their popularity that the insect quartet’s actors released a bedridden child from her terminal illness via the sheer power of suggestion.

Songs—again courtesy of the Fox/Gimbel team—were much better than they needed to be for a Saturday morning TV show and companion record, which children, naturally (and sacrilegiously), would proceed to scratch the hell out of. Up with (wee) people!, the tunes seemed to say. The bouncy “Believe” preaches that “Bein’ down is out of style”: “Believe/ Frowns are reserved for circus clowns/ Believe/ Smilin’ will pick you up from the ground/ Cuz only the lucky ones/ Are those who can.” Like most of the songs, which were re-recorded for the album, the tune’s musical arrangement is reminiscent of the Sound Gallery, a British E-Z Listening production team that was popular at the time, while the breezy boy-girl singing brings to mind Enoch Light vocal experiment the Free Design.

This dynamic is perfected on “Fly Away With Us,” whose beautiful weirdo lyrics make it sound like the perky pests are trying to lure kids into an LSD trip or some Eastern-inspired cult: “You can keep in touch with reality/ There’s no need to leave it behind,” they assure, noting that one also needn’t worry about “The spinning and spinning/ Beginning to feel the tranquility live in your mind.” Apparently, that’s because “The spinning will stop/ As you’re nearing the top/ Of the meaning of the Bugaloos.”

Whatever, it’s still a solid, hummable song. The standout cut, “Senses of Our World,” which borrows its ambient surround-sound from Phil Spector and combines with vocals that evoke Nico’s hauntingly stilted phrasing from “All Tomorrow’s Parties” and other Velvet Underground tunes for an effect that is both warm and chilling at the same time. “If you listen/ To the sound/ That surrounds us,” Joy sings, a Bugaloo boy joining her with each subsequent line. “You’ll discover/ That you’re never/ Quite alone/ Hear the Earth/ And the sky/ Say they love you/ And they’re happy that you’re here to share their home.” The crescendo then bursts into a chorus that urges listeners to “Take the time to taste the honey” among other things in life. This is what Prozac sounds like.

Other Krofft records
•H.R. Pufnstuf: Kellogg’s (mail-away offer) 45 rpm cereal box record featuring 10 songs from the series, 1970; Unlicensed single, “Pufnstuf” + three other tunes, Mr. Pickwick, 1970
• Bugaloos: “For a Friend”/”Senses of Our World” single, Capitol, 1970
• Sigmund & the Sea Monsters: Johnny Whittaker Friends album, Chelsea Records, 1973
• The Krofft Supershow: Kaptain Kool and the Kongs album, Epic Records, 1978.