Ah, 1965—the year the British Invasion was in full swing, Bob Dylan plugged in and pissed off the folk purists, and The Beatles dropped Rubber Soul, changing everything. It was a blockbuster year for music, with chart-toppers like The Rolling Stones’ “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” and The Righteous Brothers’ “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’” dominating airwaves and jukeboxes. But for every megahit that defined the era, there were dozens of singles and tracks that flickered briefly on the charts, got buried under the hype, and faded into obscurity. These “lost” gems weren’t duds—they just got lost in the shuffle of a seismic year.

Drawing from deep dives into Billboard archives, music historian lists, and fan forums, here are three forgotten 1965 songs that deserve a resurrection. They’re not the ones your parents hum at barbecues, but crank them up, and you’ll wonder why they aren’t on every retro playlist. I’ve picked tracks from diverse corners of the soundscape: folk protest, pop harmony, and country swing. Each peaked modestly (or not at all), but their hooks and heart still hit hard today.

1. “Days of Decision” by Phil Ochs (From the Album All the News That’s Fit to Sing, Released January 1965)

If you’re picturing 1965 folk, it’s probably Dylan’s electric snarl or Simon & Garfunkel’s tender duets. Phil Ochs? He’s the unsung firebrand of Greenwich Village, a topical songwriter whose sharp wit and social conscience rivaled his more famous peers—but without the Nobel Prize buzz. “Days of Decision,” the closing track on his debut album, is a rallying cry disguised as a gentle acoustic ballad. Ochs strums a simple guitar pattern while painting vivid scenes of global unrest: civil rights marches in Alabama, protests in Birmingham, and the escalating Vietnam quagmire. The chorus pleads, “These are days of decision, days to unfold,” urging listeners to choose sides in the fight for justice.

It never charted—Ochs wasn’t chasing Top 40 glory; he was arming activists with anthems. Peaking at a lowly No. 127 on some regional folk charts (if you can call it that), it got overshadowed by his bigger single “I Ain’t Marching Anymore” from the same record. Yet, in an era of sanitized pop, Ochs’ lyrics cut like a switchblade: “Oh, the man on the six o’clock news / Said somebody’s been shot.” Fast-forward to today, and it’s eerily prescient for protest playlists—think Black Lives Matter or campus Gaza vigils. Music historians like those at American Songwriter call it a “lost cornerstone of ’60s activism,” forgotten because Ochs’ uncompromising politics scared off commercial radio. Stream it on Spotify, and you’ll feel the weight of history in under three minutes. Why remember it now? Because in a divided world, Ochs reminds us that silence isn’t neutral—it’s complicit.

2. “Take Me Back” by Little Anthony and the Imperials (Single Released June 1965)

Soul and doo-wop were heating up in ’65, with The Supremes and Four Tops ruling the R&B roost, but Little Anthony and the Imperials flew under the radar with their silky harmonies and heartbreak tales. “Take Me Back,” penned by Teddy Randazzo (a behind-the-scenes wizard for acts like Dean Martin), is a pleading slow-burner that aches with regret. Anthony Gourdine’s falsetto soars over lush strings and a gentle rhythm section, crooning lines like “Take me back to the night we met / When love was new and I can’t forget.” It’s the sound of a man begging for a second chance after letting paradise slip away—pure ’60s romance, minus the cheese.

This one scraped to No. 16 on the Billboard Hot 100 and No. 5 on the R&B chart, but it vanished fast amid Motown’s dominance and the British Invasion’s glare. No Grammy nods, no movie soundtracks (unlike their earlier hit “Goin’ Out of My Head”), and zero cultural footprint beyond die-hard Northern Soul collectors. As noted in retrospectives from American Songwriter, it was part of their stellar 1964 album but released as a single the next year to middling fanfare—overshadowed by bigger ballads like “Unchained Melody.” What makes it endure? That Imperials backing vocal weave—think a smoother Delfonics before they even existed. In our swipe-left dating age, it’s a nostalgic gut-punch: a reminder that love’s “take me back” moments deserve more than a text apology. Dig it up on YouTube; the black-and-white performance clip will transport you to a sock-hop slow dance.

3. “The Race Is On” by Jack Jones (Single Released Early 1965)

Country crossover was bubbling in 1965—think Buck Owens twang meeting Nashville polish—but Jack Jones’ take on “The Race Is On” got lapped by George Jones’ (no relation) raw 1964 original. Written by Don Rollins, this turbo-charged heartbreak tale compares lost love to a derby gone wrong: “I felt like a clown; I’d been up, but not down / Loving you had made me proud.” Jack Jones, the velvet-voiced crooner known for standards like “Lollipops and Roses,” amps it up with orchestral swells and a swinging big-band vibe, turning country grit into easy-listening gold.

It hit No. 42 on the Country chart and No. 77 overall—respectable, but no “Ring of Fire” fireworks. George Jones’ version owned the narrative (peaking at No. 2 country), leaving Jack’s lounge-lizard spin in the dustbin. Forgotten Hits compilations and uDiscover lists peg it as a prime “lost ’60s crossover,” eclipsed by the year’s folk-rock explosion and soul surge. Still, Jones’ polished delivery adds ironic flair: He’s the heartbroken dude in a tuxedo, racing heartbreak with a martini in hand. It’s campy fun for modern ears—perfect for a Mad Men-style playlist or a ironic bar karaoke night. Why dust it off? In an age of auto-tuned twang, Jack’s sincerity shines: Real pain doesn’t need mud on the boots.

These tracks aren’t just relics; they’re time capsules from a year when music mirrored a world in flux—civil rights battles, Vietnam drafts, and cultural earthquakes. They flopped commercially because ’65 was overcrowded with immortals, but that’s their charm: unpolished diamonds in the rough. If you’re building a ’60s deep-cut playlist, start here. Who knows? You might unearth your new favorite obsession. What’s a forgotten ’65 banger you secretly love? Drop it in the comments—let’s keep these songs from staying lost.