Way Up

Bessie Griffin (born Arnette Broil) hailed, like Mahalia Jackson, from New Orleans. In 1947/8, she made her first recordings in New York with the »Southern Revi- valists of New Orleans« (aka »The Southern Harps«).

»As a member of the Southern Harps, Griffin ruled New Orleans. On two different occasions, once while the Southern Harps were singing "Just Over The Hill" and once during "I Want To Rest", overwrought listeners actually died during the performances. But the Southern Harps never broke through, despite Griffin's house-wrecking abilities« (Robert Darden: People Get Ready! A New History of Black Gospel Music, New York 2004, p. 256).

Following an invitation by Mahalia Jackson, with whom she was later often compared as to her vocal style and impressive contralto voice, she came to Chicago in 1951. She then toured during the early Fifties with Albertina Walker and her Caravans. In the later '50s, she performed in and around Chicago as well as in New Orleans, but by singing alone she only made a modest living and therefore took up some other jobs besides, e.g. as a radio D.J. She later said that she had to use ramshackle cars while touring, those cars having »maypop tires«, that is they »may pop any moment«.

1958 we find her in Los Angeles with Art Rupe and under contract to his influential Specialty Records. Robert »Bumps« Blackwell, producer at Specialty, had the idea, in 1959, to stage a gospel musical which eventually was called »Portraits in Bronze«. This musical opened in Los Angeles in September 1959 and brought Bessie consider- able fame; Steve McQueen and Bette Davis attended her performances. During the following years she would be appearing on several TV evening shows, performing parts of the said gospel musical.

From Jet-Magazine, Sept. 27, 1962

From Billboard, Dec. 8, 1962

»Portraits in Bronze« had great importance not only for Bessie Griffin's career, but also for the general impact and crossover appeal of gospel music. Tony Cummings, in a biographical sketch of Bessie Griffin that is worth reading (»Bessie Griffin: A pioneering, and largely forgotten, giant of black gospel music«), remarked that »Portraits signalled the first move of gospel into clubs and coffee houses«. Thus, in 1960 not only Bessie Griffin appeared on the stages of night clubs and even recorded in secular venues, but a number of other gospel singers and outfits did the same, most notably the Clara Ward Singers or The Meditation Singers. A short notice in JET (March 31, 1960, page 63) announced that »the Show Boat Lounge in Las Vegas has someting new in entertainment. While players seek to beat the dice and slot machines, Sister Bessie Griffin and her gospel quartet keep the joint rocking with song«. To perform in Las Vegas or in night clubs was anything but easy in the be- ginning since the religious tunes seemed rather out of place in this context, to put it mildly. Bessie called the music she was performing in secular venues »Pop-Gospel« and later explained how they got religious repertoire through to the public (those present and those buying her records, that is): »We didn't know how people would react to us shouting 'Jesus' so we'd sing 'My Saviour' or 'Master'«. But she also felt there must be a limit to her efforts at ingratiating her music with the tastes of a secular-minded public. That is why she once and again started deliberately singing slow and solemn hymns like »Old Rugged Cross« when the crowd was calling for uptempo shouters like »When The Saints Go Marching In«.

Liberty LP # 13002 (back cover)

The production of »Portraits in Bronze« was a big deal, as befits a major musical. The album which went along with it, Liberty LP # LMM-13002, boasted a »unique combination of gospel & jazz«. The packaging of the LP was as extravagant as the musical, the record being sold in a foldable sleeve with many photos and stately liner notes. However, the sleeve notes for the most part sound rather pathetical and come up with little but worn-out clichés. Just read this: »The story of a people - the soul music of a race born in debt, which lived in debt and died in debt. They sang when they were happy ... they sang when they were sad. This is Portraits in Bronze«. What is interesting, though, is that already back in 1960 the term »soul music« obviously had a certain currency and was considered idoneous for advertising a record of black gospel music. (Bessie Griffin would later again be packaged as a »soul artist« in her 1969 album »The Gospel Soul Of Bessie Griffin« (Savoy LP # 14322) but at that time the term »soul« had become ubiquitous and almost hollowed out by its ominpresence.)

Bessie was accompanied in most songs by a undistinguished choir, the »Gospel Pearls«. Among the session players we find young Billy Preston (on piano & organ) who was later to make a big name for himself. In the following, you can listen to a traditional spiritual featuring Bessie Griffin solo without vocal backing. The song, famous enough, is entitled »Sometimes I Feel Like A Motherless Child«. Both melody and lyrics go back to the time of slavery. It was a deplorable practice during that epoch to separate children from their mothers when sold to a new owner:

»He took great pains to convince a farmer and his wife, in Chester county, of the iniquity of keeping negro slaves, but to no purpose. They not only kept their slaves, but defended the practice. One day he went into their house, arid after a short discourse with them upon the wickedness, and particularly the inhumanity of separating children from their parents, which was involved in the slave trade, he seized the only child of the family, (a little girl about three years old) and pretended to run away with her. The child cried bitterly, " I will be good - I will be good," and the parents showed signs of being alar- med. Upon observing this scene, Mr. Lay said, very emphatically, " You see and feel now a little of the distress you occasion every day, by the inhuman practice of slave-keeping.« (Quoted from Evert A. & George L. Duyckinck: Cyclopaedia of American Literature, Volume 1, New York 1856, page 270).

But of course you can take the song's message in a more general vein and then it might be understood as a lament about the existential, albeit temporary (»some- times«!) solitariness of Man. A simple song, and Bessie does perform it seemingly simple. Yet how profound as she slowly, almost imperceptibly, glides downwards into an ever deeper register as the song goes on. Very moving and a great performance. And it nicely and convincingly validates Anthony Heilbut's verdict: »Bessie's TV appearances seldom show her at her best. She is not preeminently a rhythm singer, but she's always saddled with some pop-gospel jump tune. Occasionally she'll sing a real gospel hymn, and the difference is a revelation« (The Gospel Sound, p. 141). Now let the revelation come down on you:

Bessie Griffin (feat. Billy Preston): 

»Sometimes I Feel Like A Motherless Child« from the Liberty LP »Portraits in Bronze« (1960):

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child

A long ways from home

Sometimes I feel like I’m almost gone

Way up in the heavenly land

True Believer, way up in the heavenly land.

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• Tony Cummings remembers the soulful contralto of the late, great Bessie Griffin (Crossrhythms.co.uk)
• Bessie Griffin Is Dead; Gospel Singer Was 67 (New York Times, April 11, 1989)

Anthony Heilbut's chapter on Bessie Griffin ( »Bessie Can Moan and Move a Moun- tain)« in his The Gospel Sound is essential reading.

* * *

POSTSCRIPT Aug. 20, 2011:
For the song »Sometimes I Feel Like A Motherless Child«, see also here: TokTokTok / Sometimes I Feel Like A Motherless Child.

Father of Many Things

1964 was an annus horribilis for Ray Charles. When his album »Have A Smile With Me« (ABC-Paramount LP # 495) was released in late June, he had lost a paternity suit barely five months ago and become, at least by way of judicial decision, father of Sheila Jean Robinson. Charles himself had »admitted to sexual intimacies with pretty, 21-year-old Ohioan Sandra Jean Betts on at least five occasions«, but said he did not believe that he is the father of the baby girl. He didn't take it with much of a smile. However, worse was still to come: his concert tour in autumn during which he was arrested on drug charges led not only to riots in several locations, but was over- shadowed by racial incidents. Some three weeks before his tour, a Jet Magazine staff writer speculated (Sept. 3 issue, p. 63) whether Ray Charles was about to quit singing. Quote: »That's what the man, Charles, himself, said in Paris. He said he would give up singing "very soon and play with my orchestra ...".« Well, this didn't happen as we know, but given the events of 1964 (and especially after touring in Europe and the Boston drug arrest in November) Ray Charles quit touring the following year. In his autobiography he said: »I decided not to tour in 1965. This
was the first time in twenty years that I wouldn't be performing in public. I had lots on my mind, and I couldn't see myself running around. I needed to stop and think.« (Ray Charles with David Ritz: Brother Ray. Ray Charles' Own Story, New York 3rd ed. 2004, p. 254).

ABC-Paramount LP # 495 (1964)

The LP »Have A Smile With Me« fits into that gloomy year 1964, the untimely title included. Billboard (Aug. 1.) hyped it, against all good reason, with the thinly-veiled panegyric: »Charles, the master of the soulful blues, shelves it all in this outing for a raft of fun songs. He sings 'em all with his usual genius. ... A real ball for all.« The curious expression »his usual genius« excepted (can genius ever be usual?), I beg to disagree. I think it's an awful album and quite a contrast to the brillant live recording »In Concert« which was taped some months later in L.A. The personnel on the record is outstanding, though, David »Fathead Newman« on alto sax, The Raelettes backing. Alas, this was to little avail, and Charles's choice of songs was meant to result in a »lighthearted« album »with the idea of letting Charles just kick back and have fun« (Richie Unterberger in the AMG to Soul). The sleeve notes stressed that point: »Here's the other side of the coin! ... this time around your phonograph, he'll bring you a smile, and even a laugh. Here is the light-hearted Ray Charles, again exploring material that, until now, has never been heard by his listeners.« Yet the overall impression doesn't live up to what Charles was aiming at. The best that may be said about this album is, in the words of Mike Evans, that it was »a collection of humorous novelty songs« (The Birth Of Soul, p. 179). And this, again, was also trumpeted out on the back cover: »This novelty package explores still another facet of the art of Ray Charles.«
     As it goes with novelty packages, they tend to be a mixed blessing. As mixed as the songs on the album: jazzy C&W, old vaudeville songs or even »pop standards« (that's how Billboard described »Feudin' & Fightin'«). On the other hand, all ten songs on the LP (six with the Raelettes) sound strangely alike, professionally done oldtime jazz-pop, but actually little of that was in any way up to the »modern trends« in music. Charles, who was proud of being a trend-setter and indeed had set different trends in the past, offers nothing much trendy on this LP. And just think what times these were! The first year of the Great British Invasion during which, ironically, black music played by white UK bands outsold black music played by black US artists. In this context, Ray Charles acquired, for some diligent observers at least, the status of a »father figure«, but with a twist to it: He had prepared the way of the »Mersey Sound« in many ways yet his UK emulators outstripped his fame by 1964. In a noteworthy gloss by P.F. Kluge, published in LIFE (Oct. 2, 1964, p. 28: »U.S. Roots of the Beatle Beat«), we read: »If the Mersey sound is an art form, this (i.e. black U.S. music) is the music that gave birth to it, although not one of its inventors, not even the very popular composer-performer Ray Charles, has ever been as sought after, televised, filmed, interviewed and just plain loved as their English imitators.«

* * *

The 50's-sounding song »Smack Dab In The Middle«, shuffling along in a R&B-style of years past, was the only moderately successful tune of that album. It entered the Billboard Hot 100 Pop the first week of October and one month later was lingering at #52. Another week later, in mid-November, the song dropped out of the charts. This all becomes more emblematic of Charles's status and style in '64 if you consider for a moment the songs which meanwhile climbed the charts: When »Smack Dab In The Middle« entered the Hot 100, »Dancing On The Street« (Martha & The Vandellas) had reached # 04, »The House Of The Rising Sun« (Animals) stood at # 08. The Shangri- Las' »Leader Of The Pack« and The Velvelettes with »Needle In A Haystack« were coming up behind; at the beginning of November, Motown's sequin-dressed valkyries made it to the top with »Baby Love«; when Charles's song left the charts, the Rolling Stones' cover of Irma Thomas's »Time Is On My Side« was approaching the Top Ten. Compared to all that, Charles's album seems come out of another epoch.

Need some demonstration of this? Well, there is ample choice on the LP. As I have a special liking for the Raelettes, you can hear in the following two songs that feature them as backing vocal group. I picked »Two Ton Tessie (from Tennessee)« and »Who Cares For Me« since in these tunes the backing vocals are given much room. The first song was recorded on May 7, '64, at the N.Y. Bell Sound Studios (days before Ray Charles would depart for Europe), the latter back in February 1962 in L.A. For the record I can add that almost all other songs of the LP were recorded in May '64 in New York, with the exception of »Move It On Over« (likewise from '62). Here you go:

Ray Charles (feat. The Raelets/Raelettes):

»Two Ton Tessie« / »Who Cares (For Me)« from the ABC-Paramount LP # 495 (1964, mono):

»Do Whatchou Wanna Do Dawnstairs!«

You see, I live in a flat on the second floor. Below a couple, both in their late twenties. You wouldn't guess that they're engraving tombstones for a living, but that's what they're actually doing. They've got a dog, and a big one at that. I try to stay clear of him (or her, who knows?). But even though I meet them once in a while, I try to stay clear of the couple as well. Thing is, their relation is of the neurotic kind. Rarely a day that they don't shout at each other; plates are flying high and doors get slammed with a bang. It happens during the day and more often at night, normally quite late in the wee hours. Just yesterday I noted that the stone head of an ancient diety which was posed on a marble column in the staircase is missing. Probably it went against some wall. To tell the truth, living with such a couple downstairs makes me somewhat uneasy at times. But then, they're getting along all right. I meet them in the morning, and she smiles at me while walking the dog. As if nothing had happened. And they still engrave the tombstones of others and possibly will live a hundred years. They seem reality challenged, but reality is kind to them.

Whatcha gonna do? Putting up with noisy neighbors by listening to a nice piece of joyful, in-house-party funk from 1971. The song has been around in the net for a while (see here, for example), and on Soulgeneration we find it nicely described: »... a little bit of New York boogaloo, a little bit of funky groove and a whole heap hipshakin' goes into this late night rowdy houseshaker. A first class call and res- ponse between some poor chap trying to get some sleep after a hard days slog and Ruby an unsympathetic party queen who parties as hard as she works and aint never gonna relent. Ruby is the neighbour from hell but damn funky assed in her style.« Yep, I agree. Maybe I'd better start a party when below the plates are takin' off. On the other hand, they might start tossin' my records at the wall. No use taking that risk.
    Just to add some details: I am at a loss who exactly Ruby & The Party Gang are. The record was produced by Bobby Martin and John Mobley, affiliated to the Philly Sound. The song »Hey Ruby (Shut Your Mouth)« is often described as an instrum- ental, and in some ways it is. Interestingly, the B-side, »Ruby's House Party«, continues the funky jamming of the A-side and is much more of an instrumental, with the sax played by Alto Zack being the prominent feature (you can also hear him on the A-side). There is one other 45'' by Ruby & The Party Gang: »Ruby's Surprise Party / Too Much Pride« on Gamble # 2505.

Ruby & The Party Gang: »Hey Ruby (Shut Your Mouth)« on Law-Ton # 1554A (1971):

Still Having Fun

Hello all! I'm back to my everyday activities, and so is this blog. As a welcome which befits a summer evening I thought one of the many monster songs of Arkansas-born Shirley Brown might be just the right choice.

From the back cover of Truth LP # 4206

In January '75, Shirley's debut album »Woman To Woman« was released on the Stax subsid- iary Truth (LP TRS-4206). She had recorded some songs back in 1972 but they went no- where, although they had been arranged and produced by Oliver Sain (who was active in the St. Louis music scene and during the '60s worked together with Fontella Bass, among others). Shirley then had a recording session in Memphis in 1974 that resulted in the songs of her debut album, »Woman To Woman« becoming her greatest hit (single release in Nov '74: Truth # 3206). In December, especially strong sales were reported from Chicago. Duck Dunn from Booker T & The MG's played bass in that session.

However, I always felt that the opening song of Shirley's first LP, »It Ain't No Fun«, really stands out, not only for being a 7-minute vocal tour-de-force (in the album version). The single version of that song was released some months after the album in May '75, reaching the upper 30s of the Billboard Soul Singles Charts in June and barely scratching the Hot 100 at #94. It arguably is one of the most moving (as well as vocally challenging) deep soul ballads ever recorded. And yes, there is a long spoken passage in the middle of the song but it nicely serves to highlight Shirley's soaring vocals in the final part.

Shirley Brown: »It Ain't No Fun« from the Truth LP # 4206:

No Loving Lost

This blog is goin' into summer break. But I will cheer you off with another gospel delight. It comes, once again, from the Loving Sisters. I already told you something about this family-gospel-outfit from Arkansas; you may read it here. And apart from presenting their 1974 album »The Loving Sisters and Their Sons«, I also made you familiar, if was needed, with their preceding LP from 1973, entitled »A New Dimen- sion«. Check it out here.

ABC Peacock LP # PL-59220 (1975) »A New Day«

For today, we move on to 1975 and to another fine album by the Loving Sis- ters. It is aptly called »A New Day«, after »The Sounds Of A New Era« (1973) and »A New Dimen- sion« (1973). I attribute it to Gladys McFadden, driving force behind the Loving Sisters, that the LPs of this group were so heavily charged with novelty terms, new eras, new dimensions, and new days. Does this express the pride of McFadden and her sisters that they were able, for a number of years, to pour out albums of the highest quality? And add to this the remarkable fact that most of the songs they recorded were not cover versions, but original songs penned by Gladys McFadden herself, with occasional contributions by other members of the group.

Ah well, Bil Carpenter surely has a point when, in his entry on the Loving Sisters, he finds much to praise their art: »... they recorded gospel music that was ahead of its time. ... The half dozen or so albums they recorded during the period (i.e. in the '70s) are some of the best, virtually forgotten, examples of contemporary gospel music.« (Uncloudy Days, page 258). I heartily agree. And what is more, Carpenter singled out the LP »A New Day« as the one recommended recording of the Loving Sisters, and let me quote in full what he has to say about it:

»It's long out of print, but A New Day (ABC-Peacock Records, 1975) is as fine an example of '70s contemporary gospel as one will find. From the biting funk and social commentary of "People Getting Married" to the country church steel guitar of "Old Home Town" to the laid-back, intoxicating horn lines of the ballad "We Are One," it is a warm, enjoyable listening experience.« (Uncloudy Days, p. 258).

But, I'd like to add, the entire album makes for an enjoyable listening experience, and though it happens only rarely that a LP comes without filler or less accomplished tracks, it surely is the case here. Apart from the tunes mentioned by Carpenter - and he missed to say that "Old Home Town" is not only a very countryish song but autobiographical -, we have on this LP »He'll Answer Prayer« (a frenzied, fast-paced gospel boogie) and several others, ranging from ballad (»Find My Dream«) to soul gospel (»I Believe«, »I Have Found The Way«). However, the two songs I want to offer unto your graciously inclined ears are the first tracks of the album: »A New Day« and »Slowly But Surely«. They were both composed by Gladys McFadden, the first up- tempo, the second midtempo and, interestingly enough, again with a strong auto- biographical undercurrent. Before you listen to these beautiful tunes let me conclude by saying that »Love Act«, officially billed on the LP, was the instrumental group composed by the sons of the Loving Sisters, including McFadden's son Leonard Givens. And now we clear the stage for Gladys's potent contralto voice, the vocals of her sisters and the driving sounds of their sons' instrumental backing:

Loving Sisters And Love Act: »A New Day« / »Slowly But Surely« from the ABC-Peacock LP # PL-59220 (1975):

Pat Your Foot

Today, we are just in for some easy listening, R&B style. I thought it a good idea, for this mid-july Friday, to present Brother Jack McDuff's first Atlantic album. It was released in July 1966 and recorded the previous May in New York.

News that he had switched from Prestige to Atlantic reached the informed public in the first week of May (when actually the Atlantic LP had already been taped). »Organist Jack McDuff has been tagged by Atlantic Records. McDuff comes to Atlantic after building a solid reputation on the Prestige label as one of the country's top jazz organists« said the brief notice in the Billboard issue of May 7, 1966 (p. 56). And everything was »top« for him in the following months, as the tune »A Change Is Gonna Come« (Atlantic # 5069, on the B-side »Down In The Valley«) reached the attention of many music lovers - it sold 15.000 copies in Chicago alone -, but it was his album of the same title that was to prove truly successful: It entered the Top Selling R&B LPs chart in August, peaked at # 10 in September and remained on the charts right up to the end of '66. After the effort of the Supremes, some months before in late '65, this was the second time that Sam Cooke's signature song was to win popularity for another artist.
     I always marveled at the cover of McDuff's LP - and the courage of Atlantic to put it out in this manner. Even to the most unsuspicious the cover must recall the visual imagery of Communist regimes of the day, notably that of North Vietnam. We see McDuff in buttoned collar and olive drab, faintly reminiscent of the uniforms, civil as well as military, which were so often seen on the photographs that went with the headlines reporting the latest successes of the Vietcong to the incredulous public in the U.S. And not content with that the artist appears in front of a red sun whose rays beam out and announce that a change is gonna come. Joseph McCarthy was nine years dead when this album cover appeared in the record stores. I guess that he had some postmortal convulsions when his restless soul drifted through the streets of a major city and found herself presented with that provocative cover. Not to mention the aggravating fact that this heretical crypto-communism could be laid at the door of a black musician.
     Atlantic had no such qualms, it seems. They merely were happy to have McDuff on their roster, and the sleeve notes on the back cover of the LP, written by Bob Rolontz, are nothing short of rapturous: The excitement and the emotion that per- vade his playing have won him enthusiastic acclaim and the title of America's No. 1 soul organist. ... This new album, McDuff's first for Atlantic, breaks new ground for the organist. It ... contains a greater variety of material than he has ever recorded previously. ... On every tune he comes through with soulful, moving performances in the genuine down home blues vein. And there is even a hint as to what McDuff's message was - after all, every buyer of this LP might justfiably have held great expectations in this regard, given the programmatic cover image and the no less programmatic title promising upcoming change. But McDuff damped any such highflying expectations, for he is quoted in the sleeve notes with the words: »We don't have any message with our music, except pat your foot and go on with what you're doing.«

So resign yourself to McDuff's quietist stance in things politic and pat your foot. Try tap it to a »Ho - Ho - Ho Chi Minh« beat if you still insist on some political message. You can also hum along. It works beautifully with the first song you can listen to in the following, »Down In The Valley«. I tried that out. The second tune, »What I'd Say«, works fine as well if you modify your chant slightly to »Ho-Ho-Ho / Ho Chi Minh«. Brethren of the earth, raise your fists and pat, tap or hum happily along! If Brother Jack didn't provide us with a message apart from having us move a bit, we've got to do that for him. Here you go:

Brother Jack McDuff: »Down In The Valley« / »What I'd Say« from the Atlantic LP # SD 1463 (1966):