My cousin wrote the lyrics to this and as far as I can remember, we collaborated on the music. It was kind of new territory for us both -- we didn't know anything about jazz, but when I pointed out the advantages to my cousin, such as being able to play chords such as these:
he was sold on the idea. You'll notice that they set our left hands basically free to indulge in other traditional jazz activities, such as heroin addiction and wearing berets (hey, all the hep cats had 'em). Best of all it insulated us from criticism from our friends, who knew about as much about jazz as we did. No matter how ineptly we played something, no objections could be raised -- we would just slowly shake our heads and say, "Man, you just aren't hip to Coltrane, are you? sotto voce: Let's blow this Squaresville berg and go to New York where they dig The 'Trane, and we can work on the heroin thing, and, uh, some of those snappy berets too."
Musically it's not bad considering we had no idea what we were doing. Lyrically though . . . if you've ever wondered whether singers are paying attention to what they're singing, wonder no more. It only took me thirty years to spot the howler my cousin had written:
When you're in my arms / I know that I must resist
That's a genuine "Flick your Bic" moment if I've ever heard one.