Thieves in the White House. Young lives being stolen in Vietnam. Crime in the streets. A bullet-ridden list of martyrs. The dream of integration had betrayed Black America in 1972. With each strangled note, “Back Stabbers” was the last gasp of a dying empire. Like an oracle shaming the hypocrites, it set the tone and the standard for the spectacular success of Philadelphia International Records. With a huge, complex production and remarkable musicianship by the monumental house band, MFSB, “Back Stabbers” prophesied disco rhythms and established The O’Jays, three blood brothers from Canton, Ohio, as America’s Greek Chorus of the 1970’s.
(L. Huff/G. McFadden/J. Whitehead); Produced by Kenneth Gamble and Leon Huff; arranged by Thom Bell; Eddie Levert, Walter Williams, William Powell, lead and background vocals; Ronnie Baker, bass; Earl Young, drums; Roland Chambers, Norman Harris, guitars; Lenny Pakula, organ; Leon Huff, piano; Vince Montana, vibes; with Don Renaldo and his strings and horns; Rec. Philadelphia, 1972. From Back Stabbers, Philadelphia International 31712; P 1972 Sony Music Entertainment Inc.
Back Stabbers by The O’Jays
L.A., 1970. Illustrating his vision and the current cosmology, Maurice White, a sure-footed drummer for Chicago’s Chess Records, changed the name of his band from The Salty Peppers to Earth, Wind & Fire. Black and beautiful, White and his brother-in-rhythm, bassist Verdine, built a musical brick house founded on earthy soul, ethereal wind arrangements and flaming horns. Maurice looked to the pyramids and the ancients to create complex musical structures and elaborate, pyrotechnic stage shows. The elements came together in “That’s The Way Of The World” as White found a simple, enduring melody for a universal truth.
That’s The Way Of The World by Earth, Wind & Fire
Like a sing-along balm, “Everyday People” eased a country torn by war and reeling from the death of the dream. Musical adventurer Sylvester Stewart traded his home in the deep South for a hipper name and a taste of San Francisco sunshine. Sly’s integrated band stormed the gates of Motown, Stax and Muscle Shoals, rocking soul giants off their throaty thrones with a fusion of psychedelia, electric funk and sanctified R&B. Playing to Woodstock and nursery school kids, “Everyday People” ushered in an era of message music, full-blown Afros and a platform of racial and gender equality that stood four inches high. There was no place to go but higher.
(S. Stewart); Produced and arranged by Sly Stone; Sly Stone, lead vocal, guitar, keyboards; Freddie Stone, guitar, vocal; Rose Stone, piano; Gregg Errico, drums; Jerry Martini, saxophone; Cynthia Robinson, trumpet; Larry Graham, bass, vocal; Rec. Los Angeles and New York, 1968-1969. From Stand!, Epic 26456; Originally Released 1969
Trapped in a body ravaged by polio, Walter Jackson’s voice took him to places unavailable to anyone else. Pivotal in the evolution of Chicago Soul, Jackson performed on crutches with the Velvatones before teaming up with Curtis Mayfield. Supporting Jackson’s muscular voice, Mayfield created powerful orchestral productions that bled with vulnerability and pain. The singer’s career was frequently halted by illness, but he still communicated faith and hope in a series of swelling and powerful R&B hits. His ship sails in with the force of an evangelist calling for the infirm to walk, and still dots the horizon.
(J. Brooks); Produced by Ted Cooper; arranged and conducted by Harold Bernstein; Rec. New York, August 31, 1967. OKeh single 119975; Originally Released 1967
My Ship Is Comin’ In by Walter Jackson
The blues checked out of church with the voice of faithlessness and the restless beat of a pacing lover. These blues would never sit down in those pews again. Shaking the growl of gospel, The Ravens lined the nest in sweet song. Hatched by the harmonies of the fading Ink Spots and Mills Brothers, The Ravens began in the back of a Harlem restaurant and went on to brand doo-wop with alternating leads and spawned the “Mr. Bassman” prototype in Jimmy Ricks’ profound boom. Shuffling swing and walking the bass lines laid in the ’40s, The Ravens skipped to the rhythm and blues, inspiring generations of “bird” groups to spread their wings.
My Baby’s Gone by The Ravens
By 1963, the all-pervasive twist craze was waning, but in its wake came the frug, the watusi, the jerk, the pony, the swim—and the simian-inspired step chronicled in this Curtis Mayfield classic. “The Monkey Time” had everything a dance record needed: a scene (“A place way across town”), an invitation (“Whenever you’re ready”), and a promise of fulfillment (“You automatically are on your way”). It gave a new punch to Chicago soul, and helped establish Mayfield as its primary architect. For a while, it seemed like the U.S. really was the land of 1,000 dances.
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