You’ve heard the song. Even if you don't know the name, you know the sound. That high-pitched, almost comical falsetto "yip-yip-yip-yip" that kicks off "Little Darlin’." That was Dave Somerville. He wasn't just some guy in a matching suit; he was the engine behind The Diamonds, a group that basically bridged the gap between the clean-cut 1940s and the explosive birth of rock and roll.
Honestly, it’s wild how much of a fluke the whole thing was. Somerville wasn't looking to be a rock star. In 1953, he was working as a radio engineer at the CBC in Toronto. He was a trained singer—studying at the Royal Conservatory of Music—and he happened to run into four guys in a hallway who were practicing for an audition. He started coaching them. Then their lead singer, Stan Fisher, decided to skip a gig to study for a law exam.
Dave stepped in. The crowd went nuts. Stan never came back, and Dave Somerville became the face of a quartet that would eventually put 16 hits on the Billboard charts.
The White Group That "Sounded Black"
Back in the mid-50s, the music industry was segregated in a way that’s hard to wrap your head around now. White radio stations often refused to play "race music"—which was just the era's code for R&B by Black artists. The industry solution? Have white groups "cover" those songs.
The Diamonds became the masters of this, but with a twist. Unlike some groups that watered down the soul of the original tracks, Somerville’s crew actually listened. They hung out with a Black gospel group called The Revelaires. They learned how to "not be so square," as they later put it.
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When they covered "Little Darlin’" (originally by Maurice Williams and the Gladiolas), they didn't just sing it; they transformed it. They added a Latin cowbell beat and that iconic spoken-word bass bridge. It hit #2 on the charts in 1957. The only person who kept them from #1? Elvis Presley. Somerville used to joke that they’d have been top of the heap if it hadn't been for "that danged Elvis."
Life After the Sparkle: The "David Troy" Years
By 1961, the magic was thinning out. Somerville suspected that the group’s management was, well, being less than honest with the royalties. He left The Diamonds and tried to reinvent himself.
He went by David Troy for a while, diving into the folk music scene. If you think a doo-wop star doing folk sounds weird, remember that this guy had a four-octave range. He could do anything. But he didn't just stick to music.
- Acting with Spock: He actually studied acting under Leonard Nimoy.
- Star Trek Fame: He landed a role in the original Star Trek series in 1966 (the episode "The Conscience of the King").
- The Fall Guy: He co-wrote "The Unknown Stuntman," the theme song for the hit 80s show The Fall Guy.
It’s a bizarre resume. One day he’s singing "The Stroll" on American Bandstand, and a few decades later he's writing songs for Willie Nelson or doing voice-over work for animated Betty Boop specials.
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The Paul Anka Connection
Here’s a story people usually miss. Back in the day, a young, broke kid named Paul Anka followed The Diamonds to New York. He had $500 and a dream, and when the money ran out, he knocked on Dave’s hotel room door.
Somerville let him sleep in the bathtub.
Before they went to bed, Anka offered to sell Dave any of the 15 songs he’d written for $25 each. Dave said no. One of those songs was "Diana," which became a massive hit. Dave later joked that if he’d just handed over a few bucks, he might have owned the hotel instead of just staying in it.
Why We Still Talk About Him
Dave Somerville passed away in 2015 at the age of 81. He left behind a legacy that's actually enshrined in five different Halls of Fame, from the Canadian Music Hall of Fame to the Vocal Group Hall of Fame.
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But his real impact wasn't the awards. It was the fact that he was a "catalytic" artist. He took R&B, doo-wop, and pop and mashed them together into something that every teenager in 1957 could agree on. He wasn't a rebel like Chuck Berry, but he wasn't a crooner like Bing Crosby either. He was something in between—the guy who made rock and roll safe for the living room while keeping enough of the "beat" to keep it dangerous.
If you want to truly appreciate the craftsmanship of that era, go back and listen to the isolated vocals on "The Stroll." You’ll hear a baritone that’s as smooth as glass and a control over pitch that most modern pop stars would kill for.
To keep the history of 1950s vocal groups alive, you can explore the archives of the Vocal Group Hall of Fame or track down the original Mercury 45rpm pressings of "Little Darlin’" to hear the distinct analog punch of Somerville's lead.