Ian Fleming was brought in to collaborate on series development, but left before development was complete. Grade was looking for formats that could be exported. The idea for Danger Man originated with Ralph Smart, an associate of Lew Grade, head of ITC Entertainment. Danger Man was financed by Lew Grade's ITC Entertainment. Ralph Smart created the programme and wrote many of the scripts. The series featured Patrick McGoohan as secret agent John Drake. Howard did it as a duet in the mid-1980s, though oddly enough even a cover by two members of the way-underground couldn't make it as strange as the original, done by two musicians perceived at the time as being pretty mainstream.Danger Man (retitled Secret Agent in the United States for the revived series, and Destination Danger and John Drake in other overseas markets) is a British television series that was broadcast between 19, and again between 19. The meaning is that it's the saddest of all Greek goddesses, so little is known about her except that she was so miserable, but what a great lady." The song reached an entirely new audience when post-punkers Lydia Lunch and Roland S. So bless her heart, she deserves some notoriety, so I'll put her in a song. There was only about seven lines about Phaedra - she had a sad middle, a sad end, and by the time she was 17 she was gone, she was a sad-assed broad. The reclusive Hazlewood actually commented at some length on his song in Record Collector in 2000, noting, "What started me is that every night I read to my children the Greek mythology stories, I thought they were a lot better than all those fairy tales that came from Germany that had killings and knifings. You get the sense you're watching part of a mythic drama for which the context hasn't been given, particularly when Hazlewood and Sinatra start to rapidly alternate not just verses, but lines that quote from their respective parts of the songs, during the extended fadeout. Sinatra then re-enters with her part of the see-saw, and yields again to Hazlewood's verse. It's melancholy flower-power (and actually about flowers), sung childishly by Sinatra against a gorgeous melody, ending with the weird lyric "Phaedra is my name." That's the cue for Hazlewood to re-enter with his far more downbeat, threatening verse, promising to tell about Phaedra and how she gave him life. Suddenly the tempo changes to a merry bounce, and Nancy Sinatra begins singing a verse which is not just an entirely different part of the song, but sounds like an entirely different song altogether. Angelic, yet still ominous, background voices croon mournfully and add to the sense of a romantic melodrama in which the script has somehow soured or been discarded. The song's composer, Lee Hazlewood, then enters with his trademark gravel-growl of a voice, promising to open up someone's gate one morning when he's straight. After only a few seconds, though, the melody grows ominous, as if a thunderstorm has been sighted over the horizon. "Some Velvet Morning" starts with such a lush, sweet sweep of orchestration that you see movie images of cameras panning over empty green hills and cliffs. Even if it wasn't a monster hit, peaking at #26 in 1968, its construction was so odd and its intentions so obscure that it's still being debated decades later. "Some Velvet Morning" was one of the oddest hit singles of the 1960s.
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