In the last post you could hear Bobbie Gentry's »Ode To Billie Joe«, and we pondered the great influence this song had on many other styles of music. Today, I would like to present another example for this fact. It is taken from the album »Doin' Our Thing« (Stax LP 724) by Booker T & The MGs, released in January 1968.
Booker T & The MGs are, of course, well-known. They were one of the most famous formations recording for the Memphis Stax-label during the 1960s and among the most popular instrumental groups in general. The group included organist/pianist Booker T. Jones, guitarist Steve Cropper, bassist Donald »Duck« Dunn (from 1964) and drummer Al Jackson. On their LP »Doin' Our Thing« we find a noteworthy adaption of Bobbie Gentry's »Ode To Billie Joe«. A very calm piece which actually only evokes, rather than adapts, the original song. In fact, it more resembles a impressionistic sound study, quite original by and in itself ... there is a certain Debussy-like quality to the tune, being a collage of melodical moods losely based on the original:
Booker T & The MGs: »Ode To Billie Joe« from the Stax LP 724 (1968):
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POSTSCRIPT June 2011:
I recently came across a notice speaking about the success of Bobbie Gentry's »Ode To Billie Joe« and the subsequent flood of cover versions, both instrumental and vocal. It is from the September 23, 1967, issue of Billboard, page 4:
*** BONUS SONG added March 31, 2012 ***
The Billboard article quotes, among several cover version, the instrumental by the Kingpins (i.e. King Curtis and his band) on Atco # 6516. This version was recorded in Memphis (Aug. 24, '67) at the American Sound Studios (supervised by Chips Moman; incidentally, there was also a recording session of the Sweet Inspirations that very same day!).
The tune did great on the r&b charts and eventually entered the Top Ten, peaking at # 6. It was then included in King Curtis's Atco LP King Size Soul (out in Nov. '67). A Billboard review described this version as »mellow jazz, which is loaded with soul« (Nov. 25, 1967, issue p. 84) and this is about right, I guess. In difference to Booker T's impressionistic rendering of the Ode we have here a smooth, albeit conventional version, actually rather close to the original. And of course the tenor sax makes this version very different from Booker's organ-based fantasie de Billie Joe ...
King Curtis & The Kingpins: »Ode To Billie Joe« from the Atco LP # SD 33-231 (1967):
One of the most famous and memorable songs of 1967 was »Ode To Billie Joe« by Bobbie Gentry. Almost over night the song not only reached the top of the pop charts but was covered by countless other singers.
Indeed, up to the present day it is hard, if not impossible, to not be overwhelmed by the melodramatic charme of the song and the voice, rough and smooth at the same time, of Bobbie Gentry:
Bobbie Gentry: »Ode To Billie Joe« from the Capitol LP »Ode To Billie Joe« (1967)
The impact of Bobbie's »Ode« went far beyond the pop field and quickly made itself felt in the realms of classic C&W, Soul and Gospel. In many cases the song was not only adapted in order to fit a certain mould. Rather, there were soon a number of songs which were more or less »inspired« by the tune without being a re-recording or a cover version. One of the best examples for this comes from the Checker LP # LPS-10044, »The Bad Apple« by The Meditation Singers, released in 1968.
Checker LPS-10044 (1968)
The Meditation Singers were founded at some point between 1947 and 1950 by E[a]rnestine Rundless (1914-2007)* and her husband in Detroit. However, the accounts differ and later also Della Reese claimed to be the founder, at least the co-founder, of the group. They made their first recordings in 1953 and were heading off for a career that was to span several decades. The personnel, apart from Ernestine Rundless herself, changed over the years more than once, and at times the Meditation Singers counted Della Reese, Cassietta George and Ernestine's daughter, Laura Lee Rundless among their members. As is well-known, Laura Lee went solo in the second half of the 1960s and became a successful soul singer. It is pretty unclear up to which point in the 1960s she was still performing with the Meditation Singers. From around 1965 onwards she is not any longer credited as an active member of the group on either the LPs or the preserved recording files. However, she herself maintained, against the available evidence, that she still was part of the group when they recorded their albums for the Checker label, including »Bad Apple«.
Home of the Meditation Singers was Detroit, and their activities started at Detroit's New Liberty Baptist Church. I will return to their early history in another post. In the second half of the 1950s they reached a certain notoriety with the public yet never became truly famous. On their 1964 LP »I'm Holding On« (Gospel LP # MG-3038) we read: »Under the direction and leadership of Earnestine Rundless, The Meditation Singers have fast become America's favourite group of Gospel Singers.« This is grossly exaggerated and at no point, in 1964 or before and after, corresponded to the truth. And still, they occupy a special place in the history of gospel music because they are said to have been the first religious group in Detroit to perform with a fully fledged band, that is, with drums, electric guitar and bass.
In the early 1960s, they crossed over, while remaining a gospel group, into the secular field, causing much mayhem by this move. In 1962 they were one of the first gospel outfits to perform in Las Vegas when they accompanied their former member Della Reese during her show in the Flamingo Casino. In the July 1962 issue of EBONY there is an article (and an interview with Della Reese) dealing with that bold move and entitled »Gospel to Pop to Gospel: Della Reese Defends Night Club Act«. There is also a photo that shows Della Reese and The Meditation Singers in concert at another secular venue, viz. New York's »Copacabana« night club.
From EBONY, July 1962 issue, p. 107
As the 1960s went on the Meditation Singers more and more relied on contemporary r&b as their basic musical style until they became known as »one of the hardest singing female gospel groups« and a »powerhouse gospel group«. They certainly merited this fame as you can hear in the following. From the perspective of gospel music they firmly stood in the tradition of »sanctified shouting« which together with the r&b backing of their respective bands made for an explosive mixture. In fact, the Checker recordings of the Meditation Singers during the second half of the 1960s came often close to contemporary Soul or even early Funk. Their sound was generally, and with good reason, qualified as »cross-over music« or, as many said at the time, »gospop«. About the producer of the Checker LP »The Bad Apple«, Ralph Bass, we can read on the back cover:
»In the Meditation Singers, five soul-shocked-and-shouting-girl singers from Detroit, and in arranger-composer Gene Barge, producer Bass found the combination he sought for this "cross-over" effort, merging the two worlds of pop and gospel, this telling-the-truth-like-it-is-today.«
It doesn't come as a surprise, then, that the Meditation Singers were open to inspiration by contemporary pop songs, e.g. Bobbie Gentry's »Ode To Billie Joe«. This is documented by the first song on their LP »The Bad Apple«. Quite obviously, this introductory song of the same title is profoundly inspired by Bobbie's »Ode« as can be heard from the very first notes. On the back cover this indebtness of the song to Bobbie Gentry's hit is openly acknowledged:
»A fat, compelling Cajun bass line opens The Bad Apple as Donna Hammon [!] warms up the "temptation" story with the other girls forming a tight, neat "halo" chorus behind her. There is a strong Ode To Billy Joe flavor in this gospel blues which is the album's title number.«
The song, and the entire album, were recorded in February 1968 at the Ter Mar Studios in Chicago. E[a]rnestine Rundless and Donna Hammonds variously sing lead on this album, and the other members of the group were Verlene Rogers, Marie Waters (Della Reese's sister) and Victoria Beasley on organ/piano. The possible participation of Laura Lee (Rundless) remains an open question.
The Meditation Singers: »The Bad Apple« from the Checker LP »The Bad Apple« (1968)
*Note:
The name of E[a]rnestine Rundless is sometimes rendered »Earnestine«, sometimes »Ernestine«. On the Checker LPs we normally find »Earnestine«, on other LPs of the period before, in most of the contemporary press and in the available research literature we have »Ernestine«.
On the cover of United Artists LP # UAS-5598 »Feel Good« we read »Ike & Tina«. Actually, this is beside the truth. This album is, in fact, only »Tina«. Ike is quoted as producer and engineer, and the songs were recorded in »his« Bolic Sound Studio in Inglewood, Calif. in March 1972. But all songs are credited to Tina, except one Lennon-McCartney-title. On the entire album, Tina does not perform a single tune by Ike. So it seems that this was the first effort of Tina's to get away from Ike, musically for the time being. In other respects she couldn't get away from him: Black Coffee is her name. At the same time, in 1972, Ike more and more lost himself to his cocaine addiction and got his kicks, bodilywise, with white hippie girls. Tina knew it, of course, the girls often went in and out of her home. And there were quite a few persons at the time who actually viewed the self-destruction of the egomaniacal brute Ike and his escapades as a hip, never-ending party.
At first, Tina was enthusiastic about the new Bolic Studio that Ike had installed: »I always really wished that Ike could get what he wanted – a string of hit records. Because when he did, I was going to leave him. ... So when he built that studio, I thought: "Wonderful - I'll be rid of him!"« (Tina Turner with Kurt Loder: I, Tina. My Life Story, New York 1986, p. 166). But, alas, this soon appeared to be an illusion: Ike produced no hits, but went on working frenetically in his studio ... and this was to become a pain in Tina's ass: »Then the phone calls started – three o'clock in the morning: "Tina, Ike wants you." And I'd have to get up and drive down there and sing, or sometimes just bring them food. That's when I started drinking coffee, to stay awake.« (My Life Story, p. 166).
How much of Tina's life is in »Black Coffee«? A whole lot, I think, and not only because she was called to the studio in the middle of the night and pumped herself up with caffeine. »Now I'm independent and nobody's maid« seems at first sight to refer to her life-story, Tina being an Afro-American Cherokee from Tennessee: »I started out as a slave, I got free ...« we hear Tina sing. But in hindsight it is easy to see also a reference to Tina's situation in 1972 in those lines: »Now I'm independent« may therefore as well express her firm intention to get away from Ike, physically and psychologically. Again in hindsight, it proved to be wishful thinking.
But there may be more autobiographical references in this song: »my mind is black«, »a cup of black coffee is what a working man wanna see«? Black Coffee »with not a thing«, no sugar, no milk, black coffee that you can buy for a dime. Is this, after all, Tina herself, who didn't get nothing from Ike and had learned not to expect anything from him? Hadn't Ike bought her for a dime, while she had to come begging for every dollar she liked to spend? In this view, also »America, the land of the free«, as the songs says, might be little more than autobiographical sarcasm ... And what about the »Black Tea« which doesn't compare »with me«? Well yes, black it is, but tea still conjures up the idea of something insipid, pale, black by name but not by appear- ance. Could that refer to the white hippie girls who went after Ike (or the other way round)? And isn't Tina »the real thing«, the »Black Coffee« which is »what a workin' man wanna see«? Speculations. They come to mind somewhat easily. And we have to conclude: For all the rhetorics of liberation and freedom which we find in »Black Coffee« Tina wasn't free of Ike yet.
But the lyrics of this song have, quite apart from the possible autobiographical side, many other sides as well. It speaks of Black Power, of America as the land of milk and honey for all, of sexual energy. Last not least it also gives a cynical comment on the music bizness: »You can get what you want if you got some DoReMi«. Yet again, this might well be a double-sided message having also a personal tint, as Ike was fooling around with several of The Ikettes over the years, much to the chagrin of Tina! Without doubt the song alludes to all this and more besides, presenting itself to various kinds of »lectures«. Admittedly, the song itself, as a piece of music, is in danger to be buried among the significances of its messages. In fact, it is not even »a song« in the classical mode, rather a statement with musical coating. But that's not really the point here:
Tina Turner: »Black Coffee« from the LP »Feel Good« (1972)
Black Coffee is my name
Black Coffee with not a thing
Black Coffee freshly ground, fully packed
Hot Black Coffee is where it's at
Way back on yonder, I don't know when
I was brought over before I was ten
You see my skin is brown but my mind is black
But here Black Coffee is where it's at
Black Tea, black as can be
Black Tea can't compare with me
Black Tea is good as it can be
But a cup of Black Coffee is what a working man wanna see
Today six years ago, on March 15, the news-wires announced the death of Lyn Collins (real name Gloria LaVern Collins). She passed away on March 13, 2005, in Pasadena, aged 56. She had just returned from a tour in Europe, actually the first solo-tour of her entire career.
People LP # 5602 (Cover)
It is often said that the Texas-born singer made her first recording in 1964. However, about the spurious song she is said to have recorded - »Unlucky In Love« - there is next to no reliable information and I haven't come across it yet (but cf. Bob McGrath, The Soul Discography Vol. 1, West Vancouver 2010, p. 332. Other relevant discographies do not list the song at all.) Her actual career started when she was employed as backing vocalist by James Brown, in 1970. Brown got to know her because Lyn was married to a man who promoted the James Brown Revue around Texas. And Brown saw to it that in 1971 her first single hit the market: »Wheels Of Life / Just Won't Do Right« (King # 6373). Together with Vicki Anderson and Marva Whitney she was one of those female singers who were supported by Brown and eventually brought into a recording studio. (Lyn Collins later asked Marva Whitney to sing backing vocals on her 2006 CD »Mama Feelgood«.)
From JET-magazine, February 3, 1972
In 1971, Lyn Collins shared the stage with the »The Soul Twins« (see photo above) on 330 days (!) of the year as backing vocal-trio in the James Brown Stage Show. They had a solo-spot in the show – similar to The Ikettes in the Ike & Turner Revue –, and Sharryn Watts wrote in mid-January 1972 about a concert of the James Brown Stage Show she had attended in San Francisco:
»Third on the show after the J-B's were Lynn [!] Collins and the Soul Twins. The trio, though, practically unknown, is exceptionally good. ... Every song is superb, however it's on their last number ... that they really open up and leave the crowd screaming for more. This is one of the groups Mr. Brown is personally pushing and we should be hearing from them on their first album in the near future.« (quoted in N. George / A. Leeds [eds.]: The James Brown Reader, London 2008, p. 96)
In any case, Lyn Collins was not to remain »practically unknown« for long. She had several singles and two LPs out in 1972, on JB's People label. In addition, she can be heard on several Polydor-recordings of James Brown himself. The first song of her first album of the same title – »Think (About It)« from the People LP # PE-5602 – was to become her biggest hit ever. Her last recordings for People were made in 1975.
The song »Think (About It)« was often qualified »gospel-soul«. I am not sure if that's the right way to put it ... it could be said of the »preaching« intro, maybe, and you can hear Lyn Collins do a similar intro in a number of other songs, earning her the nick-name of »The Female Preacher« and frequently hoarse vocal cords during her performances. But the intro is just a part of the whole song, and the song in itself is pure heavy funk. However, the forceful message of the intro, belted out by Lyn, much reminds of Aretha Franklin's »Respect«, although Lyn's message is still more determined: Men, be warned! The women might just take into their own hands what they can do better by themselves anyway ... So, if there's no gospel here, we certainly get a stern lecture!
Following the intro, the song is as James-Brownish as anything you will ever hear. No surprise, though, because JB produced the LP and can be heard calling out occasionally in the background. And the song is a dead-sure footstomper and a neck twister if ever there was any: »from Collins' throat-ripping vocals to the track's nasty groove to Brown's background interjections, this is a killer« wrote Tim Sendra in the All Music Guide to Soul (San Francisco 2003, p. 155). The song was recorded on April 18, 1972, at the Cavern Studios in Independence, Missouri. Some overdubs were added later in the A&R Studions in New York. HITTIT!
Hey fellas: I'm talking to you, you and you too!
You guys know who I'm talking to?
Those of you who go out and stay out all night and half the next day
And expect us to be home when you get there
And let me tell you something:
The sisters are not going for THAT no more
'Cause we realize two things:
That you aren't doing anything for us we can do better for ourselves
So from now on, we gonna use what we got
To get what we want!
Soooooooo ... you'd better THINK !
Lyn Collins: »Think (About It)« from the People LP »Think« (1972)
This song is the opener on the second (and, tragically, last) album of the »Raelettes / Raeletts« from 1972: Tangerine LP # TRC-1515 (Ray Charles presents The Raeletts: yesterday ... today ... tomorrow). The album was recorded at the Tangerine/APM Studios in Los Angeles.
Tangerine LP # TRC-1515
The Raelettes were, as is known to everybody but the most unaffected by the charms of r&b music, the female backing choir of Ray Charles. Over the many years of their existence (from 1955 into the 1980s) they counted many different singers among their members. The group started their career as »The Cookies«. Towards the end of November 1955 and after the success of his most recent Atlantic single »Greenbacks / Blackjack«, Ray Charles set foot into New York's Atlantic Studio for a new session. When he suggested a female backing for some songs, Jesse Stones brought the local Cookies into the studio (see Mike Evans, Ray Charles: The Birth of Soul, New York 2005, p. 78). At that time the Cookies were a trio; they had formed in Brooklyn and could even boast an Atlantic single with their name on it.
In autumn 1958 Ray Charles, who was never reluctant when it came to marketing, personalized »his« Cookies and had them called »The Raelettes« henceforward (also spelled »The Raylettes« at first). At this point, not all of the original Cookies members were left in the group. Moreover, being a »Raylette« meant, beyond the singing, getting into Ray's range on a more intimate basis, and soon the joke was born: »To be a Raylette you have to let Ray« (quoted in Evans, cit., p. 101 note).
On the back cover of the 1972 Tangerine-LP the early history of the Cookies / Raelettes is alluded to as follows:
»Yesterday there was a young musician working on the road with his band who heard a group of young ladies whose soulful sounds impressed him. The young musician was Ray Charles, and this trio of female singers became the original Raeletts. Since then, The Raeletts have become an institution in the world of music ...«
Tangerine LP # TRC-1515 (back cover)
The »trio of female singers« to become the Raeletts were, as said above, the Cookies when Ray met them for the first time in November 1955. However, for all we know, Ray neither did »discover« the group, as the text suggests, nor did he hear the group while »working on the road« but they were brought to him into the studio. And none of this former group can be heard on the 1972 album! On the contrary, the five singers to feature on the LP are not even presented by name, although they are pictured on the front and back cover. Instead they are collectively called »The Raeletts of Today«. The group at this point consisted of Mable John, Susaye Green, Vernita Moss, Estella Yarborough and Dorothy Berry. Mable John was the most prominent among them, having had a solo career with Tamla-Motown (»Actions Speak Louder Than Words«) and Stax (»Your Good Thing Is About To End«, r&b # 06). I will return to the complex history of the Raelettes in another post.
Suffice it for the moment to say that the Raelettes appear on the cover of the 1972 LP as »The Raeletts«. On other records of the epoch and in contemporary ads we also find »The Raelettes« or »The Raelets«, not to mention the earlier spelling »The Raylettes«. The different spellings have confounded many and are a nuisance for everyone researching their history. What is more, on the actual disc-label the group is billed as »Raelettes«, whereas on the front and back cover of the Tangerine LP they appear as »Raeletts«. What's in an »e«? Well, I presume some rights issue. We find a hint on the back cover of the LP where we read: »The name The Raeletts is an exclusive property of Ray Charles Enterprises, Inc.« So, probably, »The Raelettes« wasn't. But this is just guesswork. I'm not enough of a legal expert to judge the importance of leaving out an »e« when it comes to »exclusive« property.
Enough of that! Here is the song, penned by Tangerine housewriter Dee Ervin. It kicks off with a playful dialogue between Ray (on piano) and Mable (singing lead). It's a cool and groovy tune, no doubt about it. Superb harmony singing all the way. Few could ever do it like the Raelettes could. The song tells of a woman, actually has this woman speaking out, who with much tongue-in-cheek irony confronts her man: You don't care for me any longer and stay with other women ... so you must be doin' alright? ... You don't remember me, ain't even called me in quite a few days! ... You must be, you must be ... doin' okay?
The Raelettes feat. Ray Charles: »You Must Be Doing Alright« from the Tangerine LP 1515 (1972)
The events that unfolded during the last weeks in the Middle East have changed history: Two Arabic countries abolished their repressive political systems by a people's revolution and now are on their difficult path to democracy. We must hope that they succeed. The recent development of Tunisia seems promising, the newly acquired liberty of Egypt stands on knife's edge. The peoples of both countries are living a fragile dream.
In other Arabic countries, Yemen and Bahrain in particular, turmoil has set in as well, with no predictable outcome as yet. And the situation in Libya is meanwhile completely out of control. What started as an unrest on the streets of major Libyan cities has changed into civil war.
We are witnessing stormy times. Bad times for a blog, though.
Charles Ganimian & His Oriental Music: »Come With Me to the Casbah«, from the Atco LP 33-107 (Come With Me to the Casbah), recorded November 28, 1958, and released in 1959:
I am interested in the music, not in the relative rarity of discs. I also listen with great pleasure to Aretha Franklin, because she has the voice of the century. Music is no Faith and therefore has no heretics.
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No music downloads on this site. All mp3s (with very few exceptions where noted) are ripped from original vinyl discs. If something on this blog is objectionable to anyone or should, for valid reasons, be re- moved from the net please let me know; it will be removed. And to reiterate: This is a non-profit blog.
