EDWARD MORRIS: MOTOWN AND THE 60s
I am not sure what day the music died, but it was certainly well past the legendary February date we all hear referenced while pricing eggs in the dairy aisle. That was 1959, and the archaeological record shows that not only did the quality of popular music not subsequently flatline, it actually took a spike a few years later. Somehow, we managed to get on despite never knowing what the Big Bopper's next big bop might have been.
The 1960s turned out to have been a heyday in the history of American popular song. I prefer to reserve the title 'Golden' for the '30s, but it's not unreasonable to think of the '60s as a 'Silver' age. A significant number of songs receiving airplay during that period are quantifiably superior to the dreck we're subjected to nowadays (technically, so is the mewling of a cat in heat) but as the article you're reading (that is, if you are reading it, or are still reading it) is, presumably, eventually going to reveal its pertinence to Black History Month, then perhaps the less theoretical jargon you have to wade through, the sooner that pertinence will manifest itself.
There were really two Sixties': The Cultural Sixties and the Musical Sixties. Early on they weren't talking that much. By the end they were making love like wild gypsies and spawned from their union a generation of ingrates who squandered their undeserved inheritance on drugs and a self indulgence untethered from reality, but they couldn't blow through it all and we can still look back, wistfully, on that unknowing twilight whenever we hear an old Turtles or Temptations song.
Cars were big and beautiful, downtowns were habitable, men and women danced with each other and blacks and whites weren't as leery of each other as they are now. As long as there was music in this country, blacks were involved in it, both influencing the music of whites, as in the songs of Stephen Foster, and being influenced by it, as an honest look at their spirituals will reveal. This participation in what could only ever have been a common culture evolved into blues, jazz, ragtime, rock and roll and has been alluded to in a previous article in this series. It was not, however, until the '60s that the music of blacks became mainstream in its own right. Sure, everyone knew who Lena Horne was, but her big scene was in an all-black movie and she was famously turned down for a role in the Hollywood production of Showboat, reputedly because she was black. Sure, there was Billie, but Billie was jazz, and jazz hasn't been mainstream since Yalta, and even now, when her name has become familiar to legions of Millenials, her music is worn by them as an article of fashion, as chuckable as a recycled cup from Starbucks.
But in the '60s things were different. Before all the bombs went off, there was a little window of time in which blacks were making music that white kids listened to and dug and it influenced the music the whites were making. It was a mercifully unwoke era in which music was allowed to be desegregated and in becoming so allowed people to become so. Now, of course, any lousy undergrad can score brownie points for accusing Elvis of “stealing a whole genre” but it was precisely this abhorrent cultural larceny in better bygone days that allowed racial barriers to dissolve. The natural way. A listen to any of the classic Motown songs will make plain why this happened. I would argue that “My Girl”did more for race relations, and caused considerably less long-term damage, than any dream Martin Luther King ever had.
Motown was founded approximately three weeks before the day the music didn't die by Berry Gordy, Jr, an industrious musical visionary with a head for business and a propensity for surrounding himself with talented writers and performers. Motown was actually his second label, created to avoid the Black Spot known as Payola. When the federal government puts up roadblocks along the path of self interest, the savvy among us tunnel around, and he did this many times, creating several subsidiary labels. He'd written a hit, “Lonely Teardrops” for Jackie Wilson before starting his own studio. He was a busy dude, penning or producing a hundred songs in just one year. But his real talent was in finding and developing others’ talents and in marketing it to the world. He discovered Smokey, who would pen “My Girl”, “Tracks of My Tears”, “I Second That Emotion” and scads of others, as well as the team of Holland-Dozier-Holland who wrote pretty much all the early Supremes stuff. He was a bit of a dictator, and sort of ran a song mill. He'd insist, for example, that any song he gave a listen to had better start with the chorus. If you think about it, that's a bit unconventional, and yet it seemed, largely, to work. Take a listen to a bunch of Motown songs. A lot of them have that property. “Stop! In The Name Of Love” is an example. Another thing he'd do to put his artists over was groom them. Teach them how to move on stage come off as polished in interviews and so on. This, of course, would earn him Uncle Tom status now, but it put a whole genre on the top of the charts then.
Well, anyway, when the riots happened in '67, he wisely high-tailed it out of Detroit, presumably so looters couldn't loot his loot, and vamoosed to sunny California. Then that little window of time started closing, with a painful, grinding squeak. The label went on. The hits kept piling up. Gordy himself wrote a bunch of number ones for the Jackson 5 (speaking of a painful squeak) and a few R&B artists, such as The Spinners and The Stylistics (neither, however, associated with the label) kept on as if it were still about the music, which was nice of them to do, but, whatever hogwash you might hear to the contrary on any given documentary, the legacy Gordy, Smokey, Marvin Gaye, Diana Ross and all those guys and gals left us is in the dust pile of history, along with dance cards and corsages and nice things generally. This is all the more reason why this Sunday, instead of hearing the latest grievance from the latest overpaid, overprivileged football player, I invite you to go back to a better time, a time when blacks and whites had something in common, something now common to neither race, really: A love of good music.
Since we're doing a Black History thing, it's not fair or appropriate to link exclusively Motown songs, when, of course, black artists were doing all kinds of stuff on all sorts of labels. The songs herein presented have in common, however, a pop sensibility, as opposed to, say, Rock 'n' Roll or Blues. In effusing over the significance of the '60s, it may have seemed I'd completely forgotten guys like Chuck Berry or James Brown or Ray Charles, which, in all honesty, I sort of had. But I don't believe their omission blows a gaping hole in the case I was making. Rock & Roll was, in those days, a crude medium of expression, and while Johnny B Goode had an undeniable catchiness, it was, to the ears of anyone over the age (or mental age) of eleven, 'kid stuff'. James Brown had a gospelly feel, and at no point in the history of American culture has that medium ever had a mainstream appeal. "Hit the Road, Jack" by Ray Charles was playing at my place of employ the other day, and that one female hollering "I don't caaaare if ya do" in response to poor Ray's pathetic pleas and promises gives the listener the distinct impression of a particularly volatile Aunt Jemima who could as equally employ a frying pan as a weapon as she could employ it as a means of making a pancake, and this impression was not one bound to warm the cockles of the hearts of too many who hadn't had the misfortune of being no more than two degrees from such a person. So I think my argument holds enough water that you can delay scavenging the laundry basket for towels long enough to listen, that is, if you are so inclined, to what I consider the music of a civilized people. Please enjoy with abandon.
The Shirelles, Scepter, 1960
The Shirelles were straight outta Passaic, and being straight outta places like that -New Jersey or Brooklyn or The Bronx - was the rage back then. Thus their lineage is not Motor City. Who cares? This is one of the finest pop songs ever written and will live forever. (Well, never say 'forever'; the Commies could still come into power.) It was written by a young Carole King and her then husband Gerry Goffin. Holy cows, I just looked it up and she was born in '42. That means she was eighteen when she wrote this!!!!
The Ronettes, Philles, 1963
Poor Ronnie had to be married to that perv. She looks like a sweet kid, too. That gold she gave us came as much from her empathetic heart as it did the narcissistic, calculating brain of that arch-heel and putative murderer, Phil Spector. Well, maybe it was a thirty-five/sixty-five split. We are talking about the wall of sound.
The Crystals, Philles, 1963
Jeez, this song is wonderful. I guess Spector, before he took to putatively killing people, wrote this absolute gem. Too bad he had issues. I look back wistfully on the (manifestly superior to present-day) music of my adolescence (and if you want to argue, bring an extra bandolier, 'cuz I'm LOADED!) but I can only imagine the glow this song must have given young people. In my coming-of-age every one was sad (or an idiot) and the music that got me from one day to the next without an overwhelming feeling of the idiocy of human existence was the sort of stuff that made the idiocy of existence into poetry by what, I am tempted, in a blush of purpleness, to call reverse osmosis, but which, in a new rush of semi-lucidity, I am more wont to call 'sublimation'. This song, and songs of its ilk, are like stars. By the time the light reaches us, the bodies that gave off that light are extinguished. We still have the light, though, there for the basking in. PS, thanks a lot Youtube. I linked a perfectly good video, and some Silicon Valley tech heads figured out an algorithm whereby I can play but I can't post it. Great going, jerks. Chug back enough lattes you'll erase history completely!
Dionne Warwick, Scepter, 1964
Originally I was gonna post “Walk On By” but, after having heard Laura's version which, I think, brought out the chords and structure more articulately, in addition to my having a special fondness for Nyro, I hunted around the Youtubes and found this, which I hadn't heard before, and I think it might be my second, or at least third, favorite song by Burt Bacharach. Dionne Warwick had a crystal-clear voice and was way too adult to have ever had the splash the other artists on this list had, and I reiterate that said list excludes light-weight rock'n'roll. All of the songs on this list display an emotional intelligence beyond the capacity of most forty-year-olds today, say nothing of teenagers. But this one would have tested the EQ of even a '60s teen, and therefore stands out among these selections.
The Temptations, Gordy, 1964
This is the greatest song Motown or any of its subsidiaries ever put out. It has, like the other songs so far, the quality of timelessness. When the horns come in after the second chorus, what they convey is jubilation. Just when you think the skies couldn't be any bluer or the vista any grander, the song modulates into a triumphant declaration that impecuniousness and obscurity are alright by him and, however girlless a listener might happen to be, he can't, sans a pulseless ticker, do other than rejoice in the singer's jubilant song! Also, when have you ever seen a video of a studio recording? I hadn't till I came across this, and I spend a lot of time on Youtube. Greatest song since sliced bread and a highly unusual video in one piñata? That's what I call a deal.
The Supremes, Motown, 1966
Speaking of temptations, one is to dismiss this little chart-topper as so much confetti. Songs that recall motherly advice lean toward banality, but the triteness of this mama's advice is alleviated by the arresting angst of the song's two bridges. When she asks, rhetorically, “How many heartaches must I stand?” and later declares "I can't bear to live my life alone" it has a touchingly piquant quality, which may as well have come from 1866 as 1966, it is so old-fashioned now.
“No More Tear-Stained Make-Up”
Martha and the Vandellas, Gordy, 1966
I was going to go with “Dancing In The Streets” because I found a bona fide music video. Not one of those live, lip-synch things. A real music video. But it wasn't gelling. Then I found this song. It was written by Smokey Robinson and charted so poorly that my go-to discography websites don't even acknowledge that it was released as a single. Its complete lack of catchiness is compensated for by lines like “I have no use to wear a pair of lashes or mascara and my eyes have natural shadows from the crying.” That's more like something you'd expect Lorenz Hart or possibly Alan Jay Lerner to have come up with. Maybe the fact that the hook sounded too much like an advertising jingle kept from leaving the gate with any vim. Oh well, you may as well give it a listen. You’re not going to hear this anywhere else.
The Isley Brothers, Tamla 1966
Not too much to say about this one. Just a pretty song. The video linked is unrelated footage of kids cutting a rug somewhere. It doesn't sync up with the song, but hey. If you wake up in 9737 and the earth is a post-apocalyptic waste, and you find some old pre-apocalyptic photograph which is non-perishable enough to last so many millenia, are you not gonna stuff it in your breast pocket for sustenance, &c... ? Plus if you stay for the whole video, there's a weird-ass three-minute pharmaceutical add set to the studio version of the song.
Aretha Franklin, Atlantic, 1967
I'm not the biggest 'Retha fan on the planet, but omitting her from the list would be blasphemous. I like this one well enough. It's a little mellower than Respect, plus there's a little video that goes along with it.
Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell, Tamla, 1967
My favorite of the duo's several sides. The key change in the chorus gives it the right stuff. Plus their pretty harmonies.
Smokey Robinson and The Miracles, Tamla, 1967
Since I bigged up tha Smoke, it seemed right I should include in this set a tune which he, himself, sang. “You Really Got A Hold On Me” came on at work a few days ago and I realized for the first time how utterly miserable the character in the song is. Dude, you’re in a toxic relationship and you need to get out. Since no one thought to pair the words ‘toxic’ and ‘relationship’ back then, we can all be relieved he was able to sing his way out and bounce back with this much more hopeful number.
“Sittin’ On The Dock Of The Bay”
Otis Redding, Volt, 1968
“Looks like nothin’ gonna change. Everything still remains the same. I can’t do what ten people tell me to do, so I guess I’ll remain the same.” Sorry. Confused. This is supposed to be Black history month. It looks like a bug in the system caused the plight of a black guy in the ‘60s to be relatable to non-blacks! Call in the Gestapo! If you’re offended enough, maybe you can c a $ h that grievance in for a $ c h o l a r $ h i p. Or you can maintain that unfashionable quality known in better circles as integrity. Doesn’t matter to me.
Stevie Wonder, Tamla, 1969
This was originally gonna be called “Oh, my Marsha.” I don't how that would have worked lyrically, but it reaffirms the prudence of giving your work the drawer job.
“Love’s Lines, Angles And Rhymes”
The 5th Dimension, Bell, 1971
I remember liking this one as a kid, and it’s kind of over-looked in 5D’s catalogue. It should come as no surprise that the song’s writer, Dorothea Joyce, now wears a long mane of white hair, calls herself a perspective performance artist and that her “concerts are a feast for the heart, an opportunity to heal your inner child, with the gift of trust that she will take you on a very safe journey.” She sounds adequately tuned in to be safe from the karmic backlash and, as long as the rest of us steer clear of the 49th vibration, we’re probably safe from Dorothea Joyce.
“Could It Be I'm Falling In Love”
The Spinners, Atlantic, 1972
We're into the '70s now. To me, that's kind of the beginning of the end of the era I was writing about. Other stuff started coming up. Stevie Wonder and others (Earth, Wind and Fire for one; Sly and the Family Stone for another) spearheaded the Funk genre, and there was the whole shag-carpeted, wood-panelled corporate Disco-Sleaze movement. And then, of course, Rap came in like a home invader and split the brains of any fool who thought blacks and whites could ever hope to share a common culture, and the thing is there have been good songs coming out of nowhere over the years, but the particular scene I'm talking about had run out of gas. Anyway, this song shifts back and forth between two keys. When it shifts back to the original key it gives the feeling of lifting off the ground or something. Also, the chords themselves are deceptive, making it not only a cheerful earful, but also an interesting one.
Gladys Knight and The Pips, Buddah, 1973
Nothing could give the Modern Left the pip more than the line “I’d rather live in his world than live without him in mine.” That alone should give a sane person reason to appreciate this song.
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