“There’s nothing funny about a blood transfusion”: How a banned novelty song sold half a million copies in a fortnight
Rock ‘n’ roll was drawing a lot of side-eye glances as it first swaggered onto the scene. The secret services certainly took an interest in the newly liberated boom. As one letter to FBI director J Edgar Hoover from a former Army Intelligence Service officer who had witnessed one of his lewd early shows in 1956 stated: “[Elvis Presley is] a definite danger to the security of the United States.”
There was a definite sense that it would upset the ‘wholesome’ spirit of the nation. Even novelty tracks were drawing the ire of the authorities. In the process, the censorship proved that there is no finer commercial endorsement than the federal stamp of disapproval. Over the years, countless works of art have been the beneficiaries of being banned.
Even today, as Donald Trump wages war against Bruce Springsteen, it is pertinent to remember that nothing makes a government seem sillier, more sinister, and out of touch than trying to silence a song, especially when that song is patently a joke. This was the case in June 1956, when ‘Transfusion’ by Nervous Norvus broke a record by becoming the first song to receive a widespread ban and yet sell over half a million copies in a matter of weeks.
The track was a daft proto-parody of rock ‘n’ roll. It took the high-wire sound of the emerging genre and applied it to the tale of a motorist so prone to accidents he’s near-permanently on the end of a blood transfusion. It’s a ludicrous little ditty with frenzied refrains such as, “Pour the crimson in me, Jimson” and “Never, never, never gonna speed again… [clattering bang]… slip the juice to me, Bruce”. And all these crass lines unfurl amid a chorus of cheap crash noises.
However, the authorities provided the funniest punchline of them all when NBC decreed, “There’s nothing funny about a blood transfusion,” and banned it from the air. Indeed, there isn’t a great deal of humour to be derived from the transfer of blood plasma, but even Steve Martin would be proud of the fateful line uttered by NBC’s notable stuffy Stockton Helfrich.
It proved even more comical when it came to light who these stations were warring against. Poor old Nervous Norvus wasn’t quite laughing all the way to the bank; he was quaking his way over because he was as nervous by name as he was by nature. His real name was Jimmy Drake, and he would’ve been another hitmaker from Memphis if it hadn’t been for the fact that he had to move to California when he was seven because his asthma was so severe.
Life in California didn’t pan out exactly how he planned. He was a reluctant truck driver, and in a tale as old as time, as he approached his 30s in 1953, he wondered about ways that might allow him to hang up his driving gloves. He had always loved music but had been a reluctant performer until now. So, with a bit of spare cash in 1953, he bought a cheap reel-to-reel, a near enough broken piano, and a baritone ukulele.
He made a few demos himself and began to charge amateurs who were keen to launch themselves as the next rock ‘n’ roll star to use his equipment in a bid to cut back on his mileage. Within about two and a half years, he was able to get Dot Records to publish ‘Transfusion’, and it turned out to be an instant hit. He released ‘Ape Call’ a few weeks later, and that made it to 28 in the charts. And that’s about it. Drake largely faded from the map following his pivotal hit that announced the simultaneous subversion and playfulness of rock ‘n’ roll until he died of cirrhosis of the liver, aged 56, in 1968.
