Podcasts about judy clay

HERE WE GO MY SHOW FOR 09-JAN-2025 WITH A MIXED BAG OF OLD CLASSICS INCLUDING ( THE BAND AKA, WAYNE HENDERSON, NEW JERSEY CONNECTION, BOBBY WOMACK, PHIL HURRT, GLEN JONES, THE BLACKBYRDS  ) AND MANY MORE ALSO SOME TOP NEW TRACKS FROM ( CROSSROADS ft CLER, JESSIE LAINE POWELL, EVERET ) WE ALSO HAVE THE CONNOISSEURS CORNER ( THIS WEEK WE HAVE KIM WATERS AND SPYRO GYRA) AND WE HAVE THE BACK TO BACK CLASSICS BY A CLASSIC ARTIST (THIS WEEK WE HAVE TWO TRACKS FROM DEXTER WANSEL ) THEN WE HAVE THREE TRACKS DUG OUT FROM THE GARAGE FROM ( THE FOUR TOPS, JUDY CLAY & WILLIAM BELL, JR WALKER & THE ALL STARS) FINNISHING OF WITH A COUPLE OF SLOW TRACKS AND MUCH MUCH MORE SIT BACK WITH A GLASS OF SOMETHING AND ENJOY OR DOWNLOAD FOR LATER

Episode 174: In Conversation With Billy Vera (Part 2) Our conversation with author/actor/musician Billy Vera concludes with an episode that touches on so many different aspects of this great man's career. Billy started his professional career as a songwriter, but soon moved to a higher-profile gig as part of the duo Billy Vera and Judy Clay.  After a successful album called "Storybook Children", Billy kicked off a solo career that has spanned decades, starting with 1968's "With Pen in Hand" up to the recent "Timeless" album, released in 2019. In the mid-1980s, Billy had a number one hit with "At this Moment".  In this interview, we discuss in detail his first number one hit, "I Really Got the Feeling", which Dolly Parton took to the top of the charts in 1979. We also talk about Billy's time on both the small screen and the big screen, including an episode on Brian's favorite TV Drama, "Wiseguy." Other topics that we cover in this second episode: ·        Compiling his hit album "By Request" for Rhino Records ·        Appearing on 80's Era TV and meeting Dick Clark ·        His appearances on and relationship with Johnny Carson ·        His star on Hollywood Boulevard and Angie Dickinson ·        Working on "Wiseguy" with Stephen J Cannell ·        Starting in acting ·        Pitching an original TV idea to Cannell ·        "Ronnie's Song" and working mob joints in NYC ·        Life and love in NYC at 18 ·        Old Money vs New Money ·        His 1988 Capital album "Retro Nuevo" ·        Dolly Parton ·        "Timeless" and "Live at Vitello's" ·        The only "real" job he ever worked ·        Reissuing artists like Duke Ellington and Count Basie ·        Meeting and working with Fats Domino and other Doo Wop acts ·        Board of Directors of the Rhythm & Blues Foundation ·        Steaming music and today's DIY reality ·        Music Publishing ·        The story behind the Drifters' hit "Save the Last Dance for Me" ·        The job of a songwriter ·        Voice-over career ·        King of Queens ·        Meeting and working with David Hasselhoff ·        Rip It Up: The Specialty Records Story Thanks to Billy for spending so much time with us and for sharing so many wonderful stories about this career! You can learn more about Billy's story, his books, and his music at https://billyvera.com/ Follow him on Facebook for the latest info on his gigs and his weekly radio show: https://www.facebook.com/TheRealBillyVera Treat yourself to music and books by Billy here: https://www.amazon.com/s?k=billy+vera&crid=31CGZ21181YET&sprefix=billy+vera%2Caps%2C102&ref=nb_sb_noss_1 Read more at http://www.permanentrecordpodcast.com/ Visit us at https://www.facebook.com/permrecordpodcast Follow us at https://twitter.com/permrecordpod  Check out some pictures at https://www.instagram.com/permanentrecordpodcast/ So this BlueSky thing looks shiny and new: https://bsky.app/profile/permrecordpod.bsky.social Oh!  Here's another one of these things - Threads: https://www.threads.net/@permanentrecordpodcast Leave a voicemail for Brian & Sarah at (724) 490-8324 or https://www.speakpipe.com/PermRecordPod - we're ready to believe you!

Episode 170 of A History of Rock Music in Five Hundred Songs looks at "Astral Weeks", the early solo career of Van Morrison, and the death of Bert Berns.  Click the full post to read liner notes, links to more information, and a transcript of the episode. Patreon backers also have a forty-minute bonus episode available, on "Stoned Soul Picnic" by Laura Nyro. Tilt Araiza has assisted invaluably by doing a first-pass edit, and will hopefully be doing so from now on. Check out Tilt's irregular podcasts at http://www.podnose.com/jaffa-cakes-for-proust and http://sitcomclub.com/ Errata At one point I, ridiculously, misspeak the name of Charles Mingus' classic album. Black Saint and the Sinner Lady is not about dinner ladies. Also, I say Warren Smith Jr is on "Slim Slow Slider" when I meant to say Richard Davis (Smith is credited in some sources, but I only hear acoustic guitar, bass, and soprano sax on the finished track). Resources As usual, I've created Mixcloud playlists, with full versions of all the songs excerpted in this episode. As there are so many Van Morrison songs in this episode, the Mixcloud is split into three parts, one, two, and three. The information about Bert Berns comes from Here Comes the Night: The Dark Soul of Bert Berns and the Dirty Business of Rhythm and Blues by Joel Selvin. I've used several biographies of Van Morrison. Van Morrison: Into the Music by Ritchie Yorke is so sycophantic towards Morrison that the word “hagiography” would be, if anything, an understatement. Van Morrison: No Surrender by Johnny Rogan, on the other hand, is the kind of book that talks in the introduction about how the author has had to avoid discussing certain topics because of legal threats from the subject. Howard deWitt's Van Morrison: Astral Weeks to Stardom is over-thorough in the way some self-published books are, while Clinton Heylin's Can You Feel the Silence? is probably the best single volume on the artist. Information on Woodstock comes from Small Town Talk by Barney Hoskyns. Ryan Walsh's Astral Weeks: A Secret History of 1968 is about more than Astral Weeks, but does cover Morrison's period in and around Boston in more detail than anything else. The album Astral Weeks is worth hearing in its entirety. Not all of the music on The Authorized Bang Collection is as listenable, but it's the most complete collection available of everything Morrison recorded for Bang. Patreon This podcast is brought to you by the generosity of my backers on Patreon. Why not join them? Transcript Before we start, a quick warning -- this episode contains discussion of organised crime activity, and of sudden death. It also contains excerpts of songs which hint at attraction to underage girls and discuss terminal illness. If those subjects might upset you, you might want to read the transcript rather than listen to the episode. Anyway, on with the show. Van Morrison could have been the co-writer of "Piece of My Heart". Bert Berns was one of the great collaborators in the music business, and almost every hit he ever had was co-written, and he was always on the lookout for new collaborators, and in 1967 he was once again working with Van Morrison, who he'd worked with a couple of years earlier when Morrison was still the lead singer of Them. Towards the beginning of 1967 he had come up with a chorus, but no verse. He had the hook, "Take another little piece of my heart" -- Berns was writing a lot of songs with "heart" in the title at the time -- and wanted Morrison to come up with a verse to go with it. Van Morrison declined. He wasn't interested in writing pop songs, or in collaborating with other writers, and so Berns turned to one of his regular collaborators, Jerry Ragavoy, and it was Ragavoy who added the verses to one of the biggest successes of Berns' career: [Excerpt: Erma Franklin, "Piece of My Heart"] The story of how Van Morrison came to make the album that's often considered his masterpiece is intimately tied up with the story we've been telling in the background for several episodes now, the story of Atlantic Records' sale to Warners, and the story of Bert Berns' departure from Atlantic. For that reason, some parts of the story I'm about to tell will be familiar to those of you who've been paying close attention to the earlier episodes, but as always I'm going to take you from there to somewhere we've never been before. In 1962, Bert Berns was a moderately successful songwriter, who had written or co-written songs for many artists, especially for artists on Atlantic Records. He'd written songs for Atlantic artists like LaVern Baker, and when Atlantic's top pop producers Leiber and Stoller started to distance themselves from the label in the early sixties, he had moved into production as well, writing and producing Solomon Burke's big hit "Cry to Me": [Excerpt: Solomon Burke, "Cry to Me"] He was the producer and writer or co-writer of most of Burke's hits from that point forward, but at first he was still a freelance producer, and also produced records for Scepter Records, like the Isley Brothers' version of "Twist and Shout", another song he'd co-written, that one with Phil Medley. And as a jobbing songwriter, of course his songs were picked up by other producers, so Leiber and Stoller produced a version of his song "Tell Him" for the Exciters on United Artists: [Excerpt: The Exciters, "Tell Him"] Berns did freelance work for Leiber and Stoller as well as the other people he was working for. For example, when their former protege Phil Spector released his hit version of "Zip-a-Dee-Do-Dah", they got Berns to come up with a knockoff arrangement of "How Much is that Doggie in the Window?", released as by Baby Jane and the Rockabyes, with a production credit "Produced by Leiber and Stoller, directed by Bert Berns": [Excerpt: Baby Jane and the Rockabyes, "How Much is that Doggie in the Window?"] And when Leiber and Stoller stopped producing work for United Artists, Berns took over some of the artists they'd been producing for the label, like Marv Johnson, as well as producing his own new artists, like Garnet Mimms and the Enchanters, who had been discovered by Berns' friend Jerry Ragovoy, with whom he co-wrote their "Cry Baby": [Excerpt: Garnet Mimms and the Enchanters, "Cry Baby"] Berns was an inveterate collaborator. He was one of the few people to get co-writing credits with Leiber and Stoller, and he would collaborate seemingly with everyone who spoke to him for five minutes. He would also routinely reuse material, cutting the same songs time and again with different artists, knowing that a song must be a hit for *someone*. One of his closest collaborators was Jerry Wexler, who also became one of his best friends, even though one of their earliest interactions had been when Wexler had supervised Phil Spector's production of Berns' "Twist and Shout" for the Top Notes, a record that Berns had thought had butchered the song. Berns was, in his deepest bones, a record man. Listening to the records that Berns made, there's a strong continuity in everything he does. There's a love there of simplicity -- almost none of his records have more than three chords. He loved Latin sounds and rhythms -- a love he shared with other people working in Brill Building R&B at the time, like Leiber and Stoller and Spector -- and great voices in emotional distress. There's a reason that the records he produced for Solomon Burke were the first R&B records to be labelled "soul". Berns was one of those people for whom feel and commercial success are inextricable. He was an artist -- the records he made were powerfully expressive -- but he was an artist for whom the biggest validation was *getting a hit*. Only a small proportion of the records he made became hits, but enough did that in the early sixties he was a name that could be spoken of in the same breath as Leiber and Stoller, Spector, and Bacharach and David. And Atlantic needed a record man. The only people producing hits for the label at this point were Leiber and Stoller, and they were in the process of stopping doing freelance work and setting up their own label, Red Bird, as we talked about in the episode on the Shangri-Las. And anyway, they wanted more money than they were getting, and Jerry Wexler was never very keen on producers wanting money that could have gone to the record label. Wexler decided to sign Bert Berns up as a staff producer for Atlantic towards the end of 1963, and by May 1964 it was paying off. Atlantic hadn't been having hits, and now Berns had four tracks he wrote and produced for Atlantic on the Hot One Hundred, of which the highest charting was "My Girl Sloopy" by the Vibrations: [Excerpt: The Vibrations, "My Girl Sloopy"] Even higher on the charts though was the Beatles' version of "Twist and Shout". That record, indeed, had been successful enough in the UK that Berns had already made exploratory trips to the UK and produced records for Dick Rowe at Decca, a partnership we heard about in the episode on "Here Comes the Night". Berns had made partnerships there which would have vast repercussions for the music industry in both countries, and one of them was with the arranger Mike Leander, who was the uncredited arranger for the Drifters session for "Under the Boardwalk", a song written by Artie Resnick and Kenny Young and produced by Berns, recorded the day after the group's lead singer Rudy Lewis died of an overdose: [Excerpt: The Drifters, "Under the Boardwalk"] Berns was making hits on a regular basis by mid-1964, and the income from the label's new success allowed Jerry Wexler and the Ertegun brothers to buy out their other partners -- Ahmet Ertegun's old dentist, who had put up some of the initial money, and Miriam Bienstock, the ex-wife of their initial partner Herb Abramson, who'd got Abramson's share in the company after the divorce, and who was now married to Freddie Bienstock of Hill and Range publishing. Wexler and the Erteguns now owned the whole label. Berns also made regular trips to the UK to keep up his work with British musicians, and in one of those trips, as we heard in the episode on "Here Comes the Night", he produced several tracks for the group Them, including that track, written by Berns: [Excerpt: Them, "Here Comes the Night"] And a song written by the group's lead singer Van Morrison, "Gloria": [Excerpt: Them, "Gloria"] But Berns hadn't done much other work with them, because he had a new project. Part of the reason that Wexler and the Erteguns had gained total control of Atlantic was because, in a move pushed primarily by Wexler, they were looking at selling it. They'd already tried to merge with Leiber and Stoller's Red Bird Records, but lost the opportunity after a disastrous meeting, but they were in negotiations with several other labels, negotiations which would take another couple of years to bear fruit. But they weren't planning on getting out of the record business altogether. Whatever deal they made, they'd remain with Atlantic, but they were also planning on starting another label. Bert Berns had seen how successful Leiber and Stoller were with Red Bird, and wanted something similar. Wexler and the Erteguns didn't want to lose their one hit-maker, so they came up with an offer that would benefit all of them. Berns' publishing contract had just ended, so they would set up a new publishing company, WEB IV, named after the initials Wexler, Ertegun, and Berns, and the fact that there were four of them. Berns would own fifty percent of that, and the other three would own the other half. And they were going to start up a new label, with seventeen thousand dollars of the Atlantic partners' money. That label would be called Bang -- for Bert, Ahmet, Neshui, and Gerald -- and would be a separate company from Atlantic, so not affected by any sale. Berns would continue as a staff producer for Atlantic for now, but he'd have "his own" label, which he'd have a proper share in, and whether he was making hits for Atlantic or Bang, his partners would have a share of the profits. The first two records on Bang were "Shake and Jerk" by Billy Lamont, a track that they licensed from elsewhere and which didn't do much, and a more interesting track co-written by Berns. Bob Feldman, Richard Gottehrer, and Jerry Goldstein were Brill Building songwriters who had become known for writing "My Boyfriend's Back", a hit for the Angels, a couple of years earlier: [Excerpt: The Angels, "My Boyfriend's Back"] With the British invasion, the three of them had decided to create their own foreign beat group. As they couldn't do British accents, they pretended to be Australian, and as the Strangeloves -- named after the Stanley Kubrick film Dr  Strangelove -- they released one flop single. They cut another single, a version of "Bo Diddley", but the label they released their initial record through didn't want it. They then took the record to Atlantic, where Jerry Wexler said that they weren't interested in releasing some white men singing "Bo Diddley". But Ahmet Ertegun suggested they bring the track to Bert Berns to see what he thought. Berns pointed out that if they changed the lyrics and melody, but kept the same backing track, they could claim the copyright in the resulting song themselves. He worked with them on a new lyric, inspired by the novel Candy, a satirical pornographic novel co-written by Terry Southern, who had also co-written the screenplay to Dr Strangelove. Berns supervised some guitar overdubs, and the result went to number eleven: [Excerpt: The Strangeloves, "I Want Candy"] Berns had two other songs on the hot one hundred when that charted, too -- Them's version of "Here Comes the Night", and the version of Van McCoy's song "Baby I'm Yours" he'd produced for Barbara Lewis. Three records on the charts on three different labels. But despite the sheer number of charting records he'd had, he'd never had a number one, until the Strangeloves went on tour. Before the tour they'd cut a version of "My Girl Sloopy" for their album -- Berns always liked to reuse material -- and they started performing the song on the tour. The Dave Clark Five, who they were supporting, told them it sounded like a hit and they were going to do their own version when they got home. Feldman, Gottehrer, and Goldstein decided *they* might as well have the hit with it as anyone else. Rather than put it out as a Strangeloves record -- their own record was still rising up the charts, and there's no reason to be your own competition -- they decided to get a group of teenage musicians who supported them on the last date of the tour to sing new vocals to the backing track from the Strangeloves album. The group had been called Rick and the Raiders, but they argued so much that the Strangeloves nicknamed them the Hatfields and the McCoys, and when their version of "My Girl Sloopy", retitled "Hang on Sloopy", came out, it was under the band name The McCoys: [Excerpt: The McCoys, "Hang on Sloopy"] Berns was becoming a major success, and with major success in the New York music industry in the 1960s came Mafia involvement. We've talked a fair bit about Morris Levy's connection with the mob in many previous episodes, but mob influence was utterly pervasive throughout the New York part of the industry, and so for example Richard Gottehrer of the Strangeloves used to call Sonny Franzese of the Colombo crime family "Uncle John", they were so close. Franzese was big in the record business too, even after his conviction for bank robbery. Berns, unlike many of the other people in the industry, had no scruples at all about hanging out with Mafiosi. indeed his best friend in the mid sixties was Tommy Eboli, a member of the Genovese crime family who had been in the mob since the twenties, starting out working for "Lucky" Luciano. Berns was not himself a violent man, as far as anyone can tell, but he liked the glamour of hanging out with organised crime figures, and they liked hanging out with someone who was making so many hit records. And so while Leiber and Stoller, for example, ended up selling Red Bird Records to George Goldner for a single dollar in order to get away from the Mafiosi who were slowly muscling in on the label, Berns had no problems at all in keeping his own label going. Indeed, he would soon be doing so without the involvement of Atlantic Records. Berns' final work for Atlantic was in June 1966, when he cut a song he had co-written with Jeff Barry for the Drifters, inspired by the woman who would soon become Atlantic's biggest star: [Excerpt: The Drifters, "Aretha"] The way Berns told the story in public, there was no real bad blood between him, Wexler, and the Erteguns -- he'd just decided to go his own way, and he said “I will always be grateful to them for the help they've given me in getting Bang started,” The way Berns' wife would later tell the story, Jerry Wexler had suggested that rather than Berns owning fifty percent of Web IV, they should start to split everything four ways, and she had been horrified by this suggestion, kicked up a stink about it, and Wexler had then said that either Berns needed to buy the other three out, or quit and give them everything, and demanded Berns pay them three hundred thousand dollars. According to other people, Berns decided he wanted one hundred percent control of Web IV, and raised a breach of contract lawsuit against Atlantic, over the usual royalty non-payments that were endemic in the industry at that point. When Atlantic decided to fight the lawsuit rather than settle, Berns' mob friends got involved and threatened to break the legs of Wexler's fourteen-year-old daughter, and the mob ended up with full control of Bang records, while Berns had full control of his publishing company. Given later events, and in particular given the way Wexler talked about Berns until the day he died, with a vitriol that he never used about any of the other people he had business disputes with, it seems likely to me that the latter story is closer to the truth than the former. But most people involved weren't talking about the details of what went on, and so Berns still retained his relationships with many of the people in the business, not least of them Jeff Barry, so when Barry and Ellie Greenwich had a new potential star, it was Berns they thought to bring him to, even though the artist was white and Berns had recently given an interview saying that he wanted to work with more Black artists, because white artists simply didn't have soul. Barry and Greenwich's marriage was breaking up at the time, but they were still working together professionally, as we discussed in the episode on "River Deep, Mountain High", and they had been the main production team at Red Bird. But with Red Bird in terminal decline, they turned elsewhere when they found a potential major star after Greenwich was asked to sing backing vocals on one of his songwriting demos. They'd signed the new songwriter, Neil Diamond, to Leiber and Stoller's company Trio Music at first, but they soon started up their own company, Tallyrand Music, and signed Diamond to that, giving Diamond fifty percent of the company and keeping twenty-five percent each for themselves, and placed one of his songs with Jay and the Americans in 1965: [Excerpt: Jay and the Americans, "Sunday and Me"] That record made the top twenty, and had established Diamond as a songwriter, but he was still not a major performer -- he'd released one flop single on Columbia Records before meeting Barry and Greenwich. But they thought he had something, and Bert Berns agreed. Diamond was signed to Bang records, and Berns had a series of pre-production meetings with Barry and Greenwich before they took Diamond into the studio -- Barry and Greenwich were going to produce Diamond for Bang, as they had previously produced tracks for Red Bird, but they were going to shape the records according to Berns' aesthetic. The first single released from Diamond's first session, "Solitary Man", only made number fifty-five, but it was the first thing Diamond had recorded to make the Hot One Hundred at all: [Excerpt: Neil Diamond, "Solitary Man"] The second single, though, was much more Bert Berns' sort of thing -- a three-chord song that sounded like it could have been written by Berns himself, especially after Barry and Greenwich had added the Latin-style horns that Berns loved so much. Indeed according to some sources, Berns did make a songwriting suggestion -- Diamond's song had apparently been called "Money Money", and Berns had thought that was a ridiculous title, and suggested calling it "Cherry Cherry" instead: [Excerpt: Neil Diamond, "Cherry Cherry"] That became Diamond's first top ten hit. While Greenwich had been the one who had discovered Diamond, and Barry and Greenwich were the credited producers on all Diamond's records  as a result, Diamond soon found himself collaborating far more with Barry than with Greenwich, so for example the first number one he wrote, for the Monkees rather than himself, ended up having its production just credited to Barry. That record used a backing track recorded in New York by the same set of musicians used on most Bang records, like Al Gorgoni on lead guitar and Russ Savakus on bass: [Excerpt: The Monkees, "I'm a Believer"] Neil Diamond was becoming a solid hit-maker, but he started rubbing up badly against Berns. Berns wanted hits and only hits, and Diamond thought of himself as a serious artist. The crisis came when two songs were under contention for Diamond's next single in late 1967, after he'd had a whole run of hits for the label. The song Diamond wanted to release, "Shilo", was deeply personal to him: [Excerpt: Neil Diamond, "Shilo"] But Bert Berns had other ideas. "Shilo" didn't sound like a hit, and he knew a hit when he heard one. No, the clear next single, the only choice, was "Kentucky Woman": [Excerpt: Neil Diamond, "Kentucky Woman"] But Berns tried to compromise as best he could. Diamond's contract was up for renewal, and you don't want to lose someone who has had, as Diamond had at that point, five top twenty hits in a row, and who was also writing songs like "I'm a Believer" and "Red Red Wine". He told Diamond that he'd let "Shilo" come out as a single if Diamond signed an extension to his contract. Diamond said that not only was he not going to do that, he'd taken legal advice and discovered that there were problems with his contract which let him record for other labels -- the word "exclusive" had been missed out of the text, among other things. He wasn't going to be recording for Bang at all any more. The lawsuits over this would stretch out for a decade, and Diamond would eventually win, but the first few months were very, very difficult for Diamond. When he played the Bitter End, a club in New York, stink bombs were thrown into the audience. The Bitter End's manager was assaulted and severely beaten. Diamond moved his wife and child out of Manhattan, borrowed a gun, and after his last business meeting with Berns was heard talking about how he needed to contact the District Attorney and hire a bodyguard. Of the many threats that were issued against Diamond, though, the least disturbing was probably the threat Berns made to Diamond's career. Berns pointed out to Diamond in no uncertain terms that he didn't need Diamond anyway -- he already had someone he could replace Diamond with, another white male solo singer with a guitar who could churn out guaranteed hits. He had Van Morrison: [Excerpt: Van Morrison, "Brown-Eyed Girl"] When we left Van Morrison, Them had just split up due to the problems they had been having with their management team. Indeed, the problems Morrison was having with his managers seem curiously similar to the issues that Diamond was having with Bert Berns -- something that could possibly have been a warning sign to everyone involved, if any of them had known the full details of everyone else's situation. Sadly for all of them, none of them did. Them had had some early singles success, notably with the tracks Berns had produced for them, but Morrison's opinion of their second album, Them Again, was less than complimentary, and in general that album is mostly only remembered for the version of Bob Dylan's "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue", which is one of those cover versions that inspires subsequent covers more than the original ever did: [Excerpt: Them, "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue"] Them had toured the US around the time of the release of that album, but that tour had been a disaster. The group had gained a reputation for incredible live shows, including performances at the Whisky A-Go-Go with the Doors and Captain Beefheart as their support acts, but during the tour Van Morrison had decided that Phil Solomon, the group's manager, was getting too much money -- Morrison had agreed to do the tour on a salary, rather than a percentage, but the tour had been more successful than he'd expected, and Solomon was making a great deal of money off the tour, money that Morrison believed rightfully belonged to him. The group started collecting the money directly from promoters, and got into legal trouble with Solomon as a result. The tour ended with the group having ten thousand dollars that Solomon believed -- quite possibly correctly -- that he was owed. Various gangsters whose acquaintance the group had made offered to have the problem taken care of, but they decided instead to come to a legal agreement -- they would keep the money, and in return Solomon, whose production company the group were signed to, would get to keep all future royalties from the Them tracks. This probably seemed a good idea at the time, when the idea of records earning royalties for sixty or more years into the future seemed ridiculous, but Morrison in particular came to regret the decision bitterly. The group played one final gig when they got back to Belfast, but then split up, though a version of the group led by the bass player Alan Henderson continued performing for a few years to no success. Morrison put together a band that played a handful of gigs under the name Them Again, with little success, but he already had his eyes set on a return to the US. In Morrison's eyes, Bert Berns had been the only person in the music industry who had really understood him, and the two worked well together. He had also fallen in love with an American woman, Janet Planet, and wanted to find some way to be with her. As Morrison said later “I had a couple of other offers but I thought this was the best one, seeing as I wanted to come to America anyway. I can't remember the exact details of the deal. It wasn't really that spectacular, money-wise, I don't think. But it was pretty hard to refuse from the point of view that I really respected Bert as a producer. I'd rather have worked with Bert than some other guy with a bigger record company. From that angle, it was spectacular because Bert was somebody that I wanted to work with.” There's little evidence that Morrison did have other offers -- he was already getting a reputation as someone who it was difficult to work with -- but he and Berns had a mutual respect, and on January the ninth, 1967, he signed a contract with Bang records. That contract has come in for a lot of criticism over the years, but it was actually, *by the standards in operation in the music business in 1967*, a reasonably fair one. The contract provided that, for a $2,500 a year advance, Bang would record twelve sides in the first year, with an option for up to fifty more that year, and options for up to four more years on the same terms. Bang had the full ownership of the masters and the right to do what they wanted with them. According to at least one biographer, Morrison added clauses requiring Bang to actually record the twelve sides a year, and to put out at least three singles and one album per year while the contract was in operation. He also added one other clause which seems telling -- "Company agrees that Company will not make any reference to the name THEM on phonograph records, or in advertising copy in connection with the recording of Artist." Morrison was, at first, extremely happy with Berns. The problems started with their first session: [Excerpt: Van Morrison, "Brown-Eyed Girl (takes 1-6)"] When Morrison had played the songs he was working on for Berns, Berns had remarked that they sounded great with just Morrison and his guitar, so Morrison was surprised when he got into the studio to find the whole standard New York session crew there -- the same group of session players who were playing for everyone from the Monkees to Laura Nyro, from Neil Diamond to the Shangri-Las -- along with the Sweet Inspirations to provide backing vocals. As he described it later "This fellow Bert, he made it the way he wanted to, and I accepted that he was producing it... I'd write a song and bring it into the group and we'd sit there and bash it around and that's all it was -- they weren't playing the songs, they were just playing whatever it was. They'd say 'OK, we got drums so let's put drums on it,' and they weren't thinking about the song, all they were thinking about was putting drums on it... But it was my song, and I had to watch it go down." The first song they cut was "Brown-Eyed Girl", a song which Morrison has said was originally a calypso, and was originally titled "Brown-skinned Girl", though he's differed in interviews as to whether Berns changed the lyric or if he just decided to sing it differently without thinking about it in the session. Berns turned "Brown-Eyed Girl" into a hit single, because that was what he tended to do with songs, and the result sounds a lot like the kind of record that Bang were releasing for Neil Diamond: [Excerpt: Van Morrison, "Brown-Eyed Girl"] Morrison has, in later years, expressed his distaste for what was done to the song, and in particular he's said that the backing vocal part by the Sweet Inspirations was added by Berns and he disliked it: [Excerpt: Van Morrison, "Brown-Eyed Girl"] Morrison has been very dismissive of "Brown-Eyed Girl" over the years, but he seems not to have disliked it at the time, and the song itself is one that has stood the test of time, and is often pointed to by other songwriters as a great example of the writer's craft. I remember reading one interview with Randy Newman -- sadly, while I thought it was in Paul Zollo's "Songwriters on Songwriting" I just checked that and it's not, so I can't quote it precisely -- in which he says that he often points to the line "behind the stadium with you" as a perfect piece of writing, because it's such a strangely specific detail that it convinces you that it actually happened, and that means you implicitly believe the rest of the song. Though it should be made very clear here that Morrison has always said, over and over again, that nothing in his songs is based directly on his own experiences, and that they're all products of his imagination and composites of people he's known. This is very important to note before we go any further, because "Brown-Eyed Girl" is one of many songs from this period in Morrison's career which imply that their narrator has an attraction to underage girls -- in this case he remembers "making love in the green grass" in the distant past, while he also says "saw you just the other day, my how you have grown", and that particular combination is not perhaps one that should be dwelt on too closely. But there is of course a very big difference between a songwriter treating a subject as something that is worth thinking about in the course of a song and writing about their own lives, and that can be seen on one of the other songs that Morrison recorded in these sessions, "T.B. Sheets": [Excerpt: Van Morrison, "T.B. Sheets"] It seems very unlikely indeed that Van Morrison actually had a lover die of tuberculosis, as the lover in the song does, and while a lot of people seem convinced that it's autobiographical, simply because of the intensity of the performance (Morrison apparently broke down in tears after recording it), nobody has ever found anyone in Morrison's life who fits the story in the song, and he's always ridiculed such suggestions. What is true though is that "T.B. Sheets" is evidence against another claim that Morrison has made in the past - that on these initial sessions the eight songs recorded were meant to be the A and B sides of four singles and there was no plan of making an album. It is simply not plausible at all to suggest that "T.B. Sheets" -- a slow blues about terminal illness, that lasts nearly ten minutes -- was ever intended as a single. It wouldn't have even come close to fitting on one side of a forty-five. It was also presumably at this time that Berns brought up the topic of "Piece of My Heart". When Berns signed Erma Franklin, it was as a way of getting at Jerry Wexler, who had gone from being his closest friend to someone he wasn't on speaking terms with, by signing the sister of his new signing Aretha. Morrison, of course, didn't co-write it -- he'd already decided that he didn't play well with others -- but it's tempting to think about how the song might have been different had Morrison written it. The song in some ways seems a message to Wexler -- haven't you had enough from me already? -- but it's also notable how many songs Berns was writing with the word "heart" in the chorus, given that Berns knew he was on borrowed time from his own heart condition. As an example, around the same time he and Jerry Ragavoy co-wrote "Piece of My Heart", they also co-wrote another song, "Heart Be Still", a flagrant lift from "Peace Be Still" by Aretha Franklin's old mentor Rev. James Cleveland, which they cut with Lorraine Ellison: [Excerpt: Lorraine Ellison, "Heart Be Still"] Berns' heart condition had got much worse as a result of the stress from splitting with Atlantic, and he had started talking about maybe getting open-heart surgery, though that was still very new and experimental. One wonders how he must have felt listening to Morrison singing about watching someone slowly dying. Morrison has since had nothing but negative things to say about the sessions in March 1967, but at the time he seemed happy. He returned to Belfast almost straight away after the sessions, on the understanding that he'd be back in the US if "Brown-Eyed Girl" was a success. He wrote to Janet Planet in San Francisco telling her to listen to the radio -- she'd know if she heard "Brown-Eyed Girl" that he would be back on his way to see her. She soon did hear the song, and he was soon back in the US: [Excerpt: Van Morrison, "Brown-Eyed Girl"] By August, "Brown-Eyed Girl" had become a substantial hit, making the top ten, and Morrison was back in the States. He was starting to get less happy with Berns though. Bang had put out the eight tracks he'd recorded in March as an album, titled Blowin' Your Mind, and Morrison thought that the crass pseudo-psychedelia of the title, liner notes, and cover was very inappropriate -- Morrison has never been a heavy user of any drugs other than alcohol, and didn't particularly want to be associated with them. He also seems to have not realised that every track he recorded in those initial sessions would be on the album, which many people have called one of the great one-sided albums of all time -- side A, with "Brown-Eyed Girl", "He Ain't Give You None" and the extended "T.B. Sheets" tends to get far more love than side B, with five much lesser songs on it. Berns held a party for Morrison on a cruise around Manhattan, but it didn't go well -- when the performer Tiny Tim tried to get on board, Carmine "Wassel" DeNoia, a mobster friend of Berns' who was Berns' partner in a studio they'd managed to get from Atlantic as part of the settlement when Berns left, was so offended by Tim's long hair and effeminate voice and mannerisms that he threw him overboard into the harbour. DeNoia was meant to be Morrison's manager in the US, working with Berns, but he and Morrison didn't get on at all -- at one point DeNoia smashed Morrison's acoustic guitar over his head, and only later regretted the damage he'd done to a nice guitar. And Morrison and Berns weren't getting on either. Morrison went back into the studio to record four more songs for a follow-up to "Brown-Eyed Girl", but there was again a misunderstanding. Morrison thought he'd been promised that this time he could do his songs the way he wanted, but Berns was just frustrated that he wasn't coming up with another "Brown-Eyed Girl", but was instead coming up with slow songs about trans women. Berns overdubbed party noises and soul backing vocals onto "Madame George", possibly in an attempt to copy the Beach Boys' Party! album with its similar feel, but it was never going to be a "Barbara Ann": [Excerpt: Van Morrison, "Madame George (Bang version)"] In the end, Berns released one of the filler tracks from Blowin' Your Mind, "Ro Ro Rosey", as the next single, and it flopped. On December the twenty-ninth, Berns had a meeting with Neil Diamond, the meeting after which Diamond decided he needed to get a bodyguard. After that, he had a screaming row over the phone with Van Morrison, which made Berns ill with stress. The next day, he died of a heart attack. Berns' widow Ilene, who had only just given birth to a baby a couple of weeks earlier, would always blame Morrison for pushing her husband over the edge. Neither Van Morrison nor Jerry Wexler went to the funeral, but Neil Diamond did -- he went to try to persuade Ilene to let him out of his contract now Berns was dead. According to Janet Planet later, "We were at the hotel when we learned that Bert had died. We were just mortified, because things had been going really badly, and Van felt really bad, because I guess they'd parted having had some big fight or something... Even though he did love Bert, it was a strange relationship that lived and died in the studio... I remember we didn't go to the funeral, which probably was a mistake... I think [Van] had a really bad feeling about what was going to happen." But Morrison has later mostly talked about the more practical concerns that came up, which were largely the same as the ones Neil Diamond had, saying in 1997 "I'd signed a contract with Bert Berns for management, production, agency and record company,  publishing, the whole lot -- which was professional suicide as any lawyer will tell you now... Then the whole thing blew up. Bert Berns died and I was left broke." This was the same mistake, essentially, that he'd made with Phil Solomon, and in order to get out of it, it turned out he was going to have to do much the same for a third time.  But it was the experience with Berns specifically that traumatised Morrison enough that twenty-five years later he would still be writing songs about it, like "Big Time Operators": [Excerpt: Van Morrison, "Big Time Operators"] The option to renew Morrison's contracts with Berns' companies came on the ninth of January 1968, less than two weeks after Berns' death. After his death, Berns' share of ownership in his companies had passed to his widow, who was in a quandary. She had two young children, one of whom was only a few weeks old, and she needed an income after their father had died. She was also not well disposed at all towards Morrison, who she blamed for causing her husband's death. By all accounts the amazing thing is that Berns lived as long as he did given his heart condition and the state of medical science at the time, but it's easy to understand her thinking. She wanted nothing to do with Morrison, and wanted to punish him. On the other hand, her late husband's silent partners didn't want to let their cash cow go. And so Morrison came under a huge amount of pressure in very different directions. From one side, Carmine DiNoia was determined to make more money off Morrison, and Morrison has since talked about signing further contracts at this point with a gun literally to his head, and his hotel room being shot up. But on the other side, Ilene Berns wanted to destroy Morrison's career altogether. She found out that Bert Berns hadn't got Morrison the proper work permits and reported him to the immigration authorities. Morrison came very close to being deported, but in the end he managed to escape deportation by marrying Janet Planet. The newly-married couple moved to Cambridge, Massachusetts, to get away from New York and the mobsters, and to try to figure out the next steps in Morrison's career. Morrison started putting together a band, which he called The Van Morrison Controversy, and working on new songs. One of his earliest connections in Massachusetts was the lead singer of a band called the Hallucinations, who he met in a bar where he was trying to get a gig: [Excerpt: The Hallucinations, "Messin' With the Kid"] The Hallucinations' lead singer was called Peter Wolf, and would much later go on to become well-known as the singer with the J. Geils Band. He and Morrison became acquaintances, and later became closer friends when they realised they had another connection -- Wolf had a late-night radio show under the name Woofa Goofa, and he'd been receiving anonymous requests for obscure blues records from a fan of the show. Morrison had been the one sending in the requests, not realising his acquaintance was the DJ. Before he got his own band together, Morrison actually guested with the Hallucinations at one show they did in May 1968, supporting John Lee Hooker. The Hallucinations had been performing "Gloria" since Them's single had come out, and they invited Morrison to join them to perform it on stage. According to Wolf, Morrison was very drunk and ranted in cod-Japanese for thirty-five minutes, and tried to sing a different song while the band played "Gloria". The audience were apparently unimpressed, even though Wolf shouted at them “Don't you know who this man is? He wrote the song!” But in truth, Morrison was sick of "Gloria" and his earlier work, and was trying to push his music in a new direction. He would later talk about having had an epiphany after hearing one particular track on the radio: [Excerpt: The Band, "I Shall Be Released"] Like almost every musician in 1968, Morrison was hit like a lightning bolt by Music From Big Pink, and he decided that he needed to turn his music in the same direction. He started writing the song "Brand New Day", which would later appear on his album Moondance, inspired by the music on the album. The Van Morrison Controversy started out as a fairly straightforward rock band, with guitarist John Sheldon, bass player Tom Kielbania, and drummer Joey Bebo. Sheldon was a novice, though his first guitar teacher was the singer James Taylor, but the other two were students at Berklee, and very serious musicians. Morrison seems to have had various managers involved in rapid succession in 1968, including one who was himself a mobster, and another who was only known as Frank, but one of these managers advanced enough money that the musicians got paid every gig. These musicians were all interested in kinds of music other than just straight rock music, and as well as rehearsing up Morrison's hits and his new songs, they would also jam with him on songs from all sorts of other genres, particularly jazz and blues. The band worked up the song that would become "Domino" based on Sheldon jamming on a Bo Diddley riff, and another time the group were rehearsing a Grant Green jazz piece, "Lazy Afternoon": [Excerpt: Grant Green, "Lazy Afternoon"] Morrison started messing with the melody, and that became his classic song "Moondance": [Excerpt: Van Morrison, "Moondance"] No recordings of this electric lineup of the group are known to exist, though the backing musicians remember going to a recording studio called Ace recordings at one point and cutting some demos, which don't seem to circulate. Ace was a small studio which, according to all the published sources I've read, was best known for creating song poems, though it was a minor studio even in the song-poem world. For those who don't know, song poems were essentially a con aimed at wannabe songwriters who knew nothing about the business -- companies would advertise you too could become a successful, rich, songwriter if you sent in your "song poems", because anyone who knew the term "lyric" could be presumed to know too much about the music business to be useful. When people sent in their lyrics, they'd then be charged a fee to have them put out on their very own record -- with tracks made more or less on a conveyor belt with quick head arrangements, sung by session singers who were just handed a lyric sheet and told to get on with it. And thus were created such classics prized by collectors as "I Like Yellow Things", "Jimmy Carter Says 'Yes'", and "Listen Mister Hat". Obviously, for the most part these song poems did not lead to the customers becoming the next Ira Gershwin, but oddly even though Ace recordings is not one of the better-known song poem studios, it seems to have produced an actual hit song poem -- one that I don't think has ever before been identified as such until I made a connection, hence me going on this little tangent. Because in researching this episode I noticed something about its co-owner, Milton Yakus', main claim to fame. He co-wrote the song "Old Cape Cod", and to quote that song's Wikipedia page "The nucleus of the song was a poem written by Boston-area housewife Claire Rothrock, for whom Cape Cod was a favorite vacation spot. "Old Cape Cod" and its derivatives would be Rothrock's sole evident songwriting credit. She brought her poem to Ace Studios, a Boston recording studio owned by Milton Yakus, who adapted the poem into the song's lyrics." And while Yakus had written other songs, including songs for Patti Page who had the hit with "Old Cape Cod", apparently Page recorded that song after Rothrock brought her the demo after a gig, rather than getting it through any formal channels. It sounds to me like the massive hit and classic of the American songbook "Old Cape Cod" started life as a song-poem -- and if you're familiar with the form, it fits the genre perfectly: [Excerpt: Patti Page, "Old Cape Cod"] The studio was not the classiest of places, even if you discount the song-poems. Its main source of income was from cutting private records with mobsters' wives and mistresses singing (and dealing with the problems that came along when those records weren't successful) and it also had a sideline in bugging people's cars to see if their spouses were cheating, though Milton Yakus' son Shelly, who got his start at his dad's studio, later became one of the most respected recording engineers in the industry -- and indeed had already worked as assistant engineer on Music From Big Pink. And there was actually another distant connection to Morrison's new favourite band on these sessions. For some reason -- reports differ -- Bebo wasn't considered suitable for the session, and in his place was the one-handed drummer Victor "Moulty" Moulton, who had played with the Barbarians, who'd had a minor hit with "Are You a Boy or Are You a Girl?" a couple of years earlier: [Excerpt: The Barbarians, "Are You a Boy or Are You a Girl?"] A later Barbarians single, in early 1966, had featured Moulty telling his life story, punctuated by the kind of three-chord chorus that would have been at home on a Bert Berns single: [Excerpt: The Barbarians, "Moulty"] But while that record was credited to the Barbarians, Moulton was the only Barbarian on the track, with the instruments and backing vocals instead being provided by Levon and the Hawks. Shortly after the Ace sessions, the Van Morrison Controversy fell apart, though nobody seems to know why. Depending on which musician's story you listen to, either Morrison had a dream that he should get rid of all electric instruments and only use acoustic players, or there was talk of a record deal but the musicians weren't good enough, or the money from the mysterious manager (who may or may not have been the one who was a mobster) ran out. Bebo went back to university, and Sheldon left soon after, though Sheldon would remain in the music business in one form or another. His most prominent credit has been writing a couple of songs for his old friend James Taylor, including the song "Bittersweet" on Taylor's platinum-selling best-of, on which Sheldon also played guitar: [Excerpt: James Taylor, "Bittersweet"] Morrison and Kielbania continued for a while as a duo, with Morrison on acoustic guitar and Kielbania on double bass, but they were making very different music. Morrison's biggest influence at this point, other than The Band, was King Pleasure, a jazz singer who sang in the vocalese style we've talked about before -- the style where singers would sing lyrics to melodies that had previously been improvised by jazz musicians: [Excerpt: King Pleasure, "Moody's Mood for Love"] Morrison and Kielbania soon decided that to make the more improvisatory music they were interested in playing, they wanted another musician who could play solos. They ended up with John Payne, a jazz flute and saxophone player whose biggest inspiration was Charles Lloyd. This new lineup of the Van Morrison Controversy -- acoustic guitar, double bass, and jazz flute -- kept gigging around Boston, though the sound they were creating was hardly what the audiences coming to see the man who'd had that "Brown-Eyed Girl" hit the year before would have expected -- even when they did "Brown-Eyed Girl", as the one live recording of that line-up, made by Peter Wolf, shows: [Excerpt: The Van Morrison Controversy, "Brown-Eyed Girl (live in Boston 1968)"] That new style, with melodic bass underpinning freely extemporising jazz flute and soulful vocals, would become the basis of the album that to this day is usually considered Morrison's best. But before that could happen, there was the matter of the contracts to be sorted out. Warner-Reprise Records were definitely interested. Warners had spent the last few years buying up smaller companies like Atlantic, Autumn Records, and Reprise, and the label was building a reputation as the major label that would give artists the space and funding they needed to make the music they wanted to make. Idiosyncratic artists with difficult reputations (deserved or otherwise), like Neil Young, Randy Newman, Van Dyke Parks, the Grateful Dead, and Joni Mitchell, had all found homes on the label, which was soon also to start distributing Frank Zappa, the Beach Boys, and Captain Beefheart. A surly artist who wants to make mystical acoustic songs with jazz flute accompaniment was nothing unusual for them, and once Joe Smith, the man who had signed the Grateful Dead, was pointed in Morrison's direction by Andy Wickham, an A&R man working for the label, everyone knew that Morrison would be a perfect fit. But Morrison was still under contract to Bang records and Web IV, and those contracts said, among other things, that any other label that negotiated with Morrison would be held liable for breach of contract. Warners didn't want to show their interest in Morrison, because a major label wanting to sign him would cause Bang to raise the price of buying him out of his contract. Instead they got an independent production company to sign him, with a nod-and-wink understanding that they would then license the records to Warners. The company they chose was Inherit Productions, the production arm of Schwaid-Merenstein, a management company set up by Bob Schwaid, who had previously worked in Warners' publishing department, and record producer Lewis Merenstein. Merenstein came to another demo session at Ace Recordings, where he fell in love with the new music that Morrison was playing, and determined he would do everything in his power to make the record into the masterpiece it deserved to be. He and Morrison were, at least at this point, on exactly the same page, and bonded over their mutual love of King Pleasure. Morrison signed to Schwaid-Merenstein, just as he had with Bert Berns and before him Phil Solomon, for management, record production, and publishing. Schwaid-Merenstein were funded by Warners, and would license any recordings they made to Warners, once the contractual situation had been sorted out. The first thing to do was to negotiate the release from Web IV, the publishing company owned by Ilene Berns. Schwaid negotiated that, and Morrison got released on four conditions -- he had to make a substantial payment to Web IV, if he released a single within a year he had to give Web IV the publishing, any album he released in the next year had to contain at least two songs published by Web IV, and he had to give Web IV at least thirty-six new songs to publish within the next year. The first two conditions were no problem at all -- Warners had the money to buy the contract out, and Merenstein's plans for the first album didn't involve a single anyway. It wouldn't be too much of a hardship to include a couple of Web IV-published tracks on the album -- Morrison had written two songs, "Beside You" and "Madame George", that had already been published and that he was regularly including in his live sets. As for the thirty-six new songs... well, that all depended on what you called a song, didn't it? [Excerpt: Van Morrison, "Ring Worm"] Morrison went into a recording studio and recorded thirty-one ostensible songs, most of them lasting one minute to within a few seconds either way, in which he strummed one or two chords and spoke-sang whatever words came into his head -- for example one song, "Here Comes Dumb George", just consists of the words "Here Comes Dumb George" repeated over and over. Some of the 'songs', like "Twist and Shake" and "Hang on Groovy", are parodying Bert Berns' songwriting style; others, like "Waiting for My Royalty Check", "Blowin' Your Nose", and "Nose in Your Blow", are attacks on Bang's business practices. Several of the songs, like "Hold on George", "Here Comes Dumb George", "Dum Dum George", and "Goodbye George" are about a man called George who seems to have come to Boston to try and fail to make a record with Morrison. And “Want a Danish” is about wanting a Danish pastry. But in truth, this description is still making these "songs" sound more coherent than they are. The whole recording is of no musical merit whatsoever, and has absolutely nothing in it which could be considered to have any commercial potential at all. Which is of course the point -- just to show utter contempt to Ilene Berns and her company. The other problem that needed to be solved was Bang Records itself, which was now largely under the control of the mob. That was solved by Joe Smith. As Smith told the story "A friend of mine who knew some people said I could buy the contract for $20,000. I had to meet somebody in a warehouse on the third floor on Ninth Avenue in New York. I walked up there with twenty thousand-dollar bills -- and I was terrified. I was terrified I was going to give them the money, get a belt on the head and still not wind up with the contract. And there were two guys in the room. They looked out of central casting -- a big wide guy and  a tall, thin guy. They were wearing suits and hats and stuff. I said 'I'm here with the money. You got the contract?' I remember I took that contract and ran out the door and jumped from the third floor to the second floor, and almost broke my leg to get on the street, where I could get a cab and put the contract in a safe place back at Warner Brothers." But the problem was solved, and Lewis Merenstein could get to work translating the music he'd heard Morrison playing into a record. He decided that Kielbania and Payne were not suitable for the kind of recording he wanted -- though they were welcome to attend the sessions in case the musicians had any questions about the songs, and thus they would get session pay. Kielbania was, at first, upset by this, but he soon changed his mind when he realised who Merenstein was bringing in to replace him on bass for the session. Richard Davis, the bass player -- who sadly died two months ago as I write this -- would later go on to play on many classic rock records by people like Bruce Springsteen and Laura Nyro, largely as a result of his work for Morrison, but at the time he was known as one of the great jazz bass players, most notably having played on Eric Dolphy's Out to Lunch: [Excerpt: Eric Dolphy, "Hat and Beard"] Kielbania could see the wisdom of getting in one of the truly great players for the album, and he was happy to show Davis the parts he'd been playing on the songs live, which Davis could then embellish -- Davis later always denied this, but it's obvious when listening to the live recordings that Kielbania played on before these sessions that Davis is playing very similar lines. Warren Smith Jr, the vibraphone player, had played with great jazz musicians like Charles Mingus and Herbie Mann, as well as backing Lloyd Price, Aretha Franklin, and Janis Joplin. Connie Kay, the drummer, was the drummer for the Modern Jazz Quartet and had also played sessions with everyone from Ruth Brown to Miles Davis. And Jay Berliner, the guitarist, had played on records like Charles Mingus' classic The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady: [Excerpt: Charles Mingus: "Mode D - Trio and Group Dancers, Mode F - Single Solos & Group Dance"] There was also a flute player whose name nobody now remembers. Although all of these musicians were jobbing session musicians -- Berliner came to the first session for the album that became Astral Weeks straight from a session recording a jingle for Pringles potato chips -- they were all very capable of taking a simple song and using it as an opportunity for jazz improvisation. And that was what Merenstein asked them to do. The songs that Morrison was writing were lyrically oblique, but structurally they were very simple -- surprisingly so when one is used to listening to the finished album. Most of the songs were, harmonically, variants of the standard blues and R&B changes that Morrison was used to playing. "Cyprus Avenue" and "The Way Young Lovers Do", for example, are both basically twelve-bar blueses -- neither is *exactly* a standard twelve-bar blues, but both are close enough that they can be considered to fit the form. Other than what Kielbania and Payne showed the musicians, they received no guidance from Morrison, who came in, ran through the songs once for them, and then headed to the vocal booth. None of the musicians had much memory of Morrison at all -- Jay Berliner said “This little guy walks in, past everybody, disappears into the vocal booth, and almost never comes out, even on the playbacks, he stayed in there." While Richard Davis later said “Well, I was with three of my favorite fellas to play with, so that's what made it beautiful. We were not concerned with Van at all, he never spoke to us.” The sound of the basic tracks on Astral Weeks is not the sound of a single auteur, as one might expect given its reputation, it's the sound of extremely good jazz musicians improvising based on the instructions given by Lewis Merenstein, who was trying to capture the feeling he'd got from listening to Morrison's live performances and demos. And because these were extremely good musicians, the album was recorded extremely quickly. In the first session, they cut four songs. Two of those were songs that Morrison was contractually obliged to record because of his agreement with Web IV -- "Beside You" and "Madame George", two songs that Bert Berns had produced, now in radically different versions: [Excerpt: Van Morrison, "Madame George"] The third song, "Cyprus Avenue", is the song that has caused most controversy over the years, as it's another of the songs that Morrison wrote around this time that relate to a sexual or romantic interest in underage girls. In this case, the reasoning might have been as simple as that the song is a blues, and Morrison may have been thinking about a tradition of lyrics like this in blues songs like "Good Morning, Little Schoolgirl". Whatever the cause though, the lyrics have, to put it mildly, not aged well at all: [Excerpt: Van Morrison, "Cyprus Avenue"] That song would be his standard set-closer for live performances for much of the seventies. For the fourth and final song, though, they chose to record what would become the title track for the album, "Astral Weeks", a song that was a lot more elliptical, and which seems in part to be about Morrison's longing for Janet Planet from afar, but also about memories of childhood, and also one of the first songs to bring in Morrison's fascination with the occult and spirituality,  something that would be a recurring theme throughout his work, as the song was partly inspired by paintings by a friend of Morrison's which suggested to him the concept of astral travel: [Excerpt: Van Morrison, "Astral Weeks"] Morrison had a fascination with the idea of astral travel, as he had apparently had several out-of-body experiences as a child, and wanted to find some kind of explanation for them. Most of the songs on the album came, by Morrison's own account, as a kind of automatic writing, coming through him rather than being consciously written, and there's a fascination throughout with, to use the phrase from "Madame George", "childhood visions". The song is also one of the first songs in Morrison's repertoire to deliberately namecheck one of his idols, something else he would do often in future, when he talks about "talking to Huddie Leadbelly". "Astral Weeks" was a song that Morrison had been performing live for some time, and Payne had always enjoyed doing it. Unlike Kielbania he had no compunction about insisting that he was good enough to play on the record, and he eventually persuaded the session flute player to let him borrow his instrument, and Payne was allowed to play on the track: [Excerpt: Van Morrison, "Astral Weeks"] Or at least that's how the story is usually told -- Payne is usually credited for playing on "Madame George" too, even though everyone agrees that "Astral Weeks" was the last song of the night, but people's memories can fade over time. Either way, Payne's interplay with Jay Berliner on the guitar became such a strong point of the track that there was no question of bringing the unknown session player back -- Payne was going to be the woodwind player for the rest of the album: [Excerpt: Van Morrison, "Astral Weeks"] There was then a six-day break between sessions, during which time Payne and Kielbania went to get initiated into Scientology -- a religion with which Morrison himself would experiment a little over a decade later -- though they soon decided that it wasn't worth the cost of the courses they'd have to take, and gave up on the idea the same week. The next session didn't go so well. Jay Berliner was unavailable, and so Barry Kornfeld, a folkie who played with people like Dave Van Ronk, was brought in to replace him. Kornfeld was perfectly decent in the role, but they'd also brought in a string section, with the idea of recording some of the songs which needed string parts live. But the string players they brought in were incapable of improvising, coming from a classical rather than jazz tradition, and the only track that got used on the finished album was "The Way Young Lovers Do", by far the most conventional song on the album, a three-minute soul ballad structured as a waltz twelve-bar blues, where the strings are essentially playing the same parts that a horn section would play on a record by someone like Solomon Burke: [Excerpt: Van Morrison, "The Way Young Lovers Do"] It was decided that any string or horn parts on the rest of the album would just be done as overdubs. It was two weeks before the next and final session for the album, and that featured the return of Jay Berliner on guitar. The session started with "Sweet Thing" and "Ballerina", two songs that Morrison had been playing live for some time, and which were cut in relatively quick order.  They then made attempts at two more songs that didn't get very far, "Royalty", and "Going Around With Jesse James", before Morrison, stuck for something to record, pulled out a new lyric he'd never performed live, "Slim Slow Slider". The whole band ran through the song once, but then Merenstein decided to pare the arrangement down to just Morrison, Payne (on soprano sax rather than on flute), and Warren Smith Jr: [Excerpt: Van Morrison, "Slim Slow Slider"] That track was the only one where, after the recording, Merenstein didn't compliment the performance, remaining silent instead – Payne said “Maybe everyone was just tired, or maybe they were moved by it.” It seems likely it was the latter. The track eventually got chosen as the final track of the album, because Merenstein felt that it didn't fit conceptually with anything else -- and it's definitely a more negative track than the oth

Episode 168 of A History of Rock Music in Five Hundred Songs looks at “I Say a Little Prayer”, and the interaction of the sacred, political, and secular in Aretha Franklin's life and work. Click the full post to read liner notes, links to more information, and a transcript of the episode. Patreon backers also have a forty-five-minute bonus episode available, on "Abraham, Martin, and John" by Dion. Tilt Araiza has assisted invaluably by doing a first-pass edit, and will hopefully be doing so from now on. Check out Tilt's irregular podcasts at http://www.podnose.com/jaffa-cakes-for-proust and http://sitcomclub.com/ Resources No Mixcloud this week, as there are too many songs by Aretha Franklin. Even splitting it into multiple parts would have required six or seven mixes. My main biographical source for Aretha Franklin is Respect: The Life of Aretha Franklin by David Ritz, and this is where most of the quotes from musicians come from. Information on C.L. Franklin came from Singing in a Strange Land: C. L. Franklin, the Black Church, and the Transformation of America by Nick Salvatore. Country Soul by Charles L Hughes is a great overview of the soul music made in Muscle Shoals, Memphis, and Nashville in the sixties. Peter Guralnick's Sweet Soul Music: Rhythm And Blues And The Southern Dream Of Freedom is possibly less essential, but still definitely worth reading. Information about Martin Luther King came from Martin Luther King: A Religious Life by Paul Harvey. I also referred to Burt Bacharach's autobiography Anyone Who Had a Heart, Carole King's autobiography A Natural Woman, and Soul Serenade: King Curtis and his Immortal Saxophone by Timothy R. Hoover. For information about Amazing Grace I also used Aaron Cohen's 33 1/3 book on the album. The film of the concerts is also definitely worth watching. And the Aretha Now album is available in this five-album box set for a ludicrously cheap price. But it's actually worth getting this nineteen-CD set with her first sixteen Atlantic albums and a couple of bonus discs of demos and outtakes. There's barely a duff track in the whole nineteen discs. Patreon This podcast is brought to you by the generosity of my backers on Patreon. Why not join them? Transcript A quick warning before I begin. This episode contains some moderate references to domestic abuse, death by cancer, racial violence, police violence, and political assassination. Anyone who might be upset by those subjects might want to check the transcript rather than listening to the episode. Also, as with the previous episode on Aretha Franklin, this episode presents something of a problem. Like many people in this narrative, Franklin's career was affected by personal troubles, which shaped many of her decisions. But where most of the subjects of the podcast have chosen to live their lives in public and share intimate details of every aspect of their personal lives, Franklin was an extremely private person, who chose to share only carefully sanitised versions of her life, and tried as far as possible to keep things to herself. This of course presents a dilemma for anyone who wants to tell her story -- because even though the information is out there in biographies, and even though she's dead, it's not right to disrespect someone's wish for a private life. I have therefore tried, wherever possible, to stay away from talk of her personal life except where it *absolutely* affects the work, or where other people involved have publicly shared their own stories, and even there I've tried to keep it to a minimum. This will occasionally lead to me saying less about some topics than other people might, even though the information is easily findable, because I don't think we have an absolute right to invade someone else's privacy for entertainment. When we left Aretha Franklin, she had just finally broken through into the mainstream after a decade of performing, with a version of Otis Redding's song "Respect" on which she had been backed by her sisters, Erma and Carolyn. "Respect", in Franklin's interpretation, had been turned from a rather chauvinist song about a man demanding respect from his woman into an anthem of feminism, of Black power, and of a new political awakening. For white people of a certain generation, the summer of 1967 was "the summer of love". For many Black people, it was rather different. There's a quote that goes around (I've seen it credited in reliable sources to both Ebony and Jet magazine, but not ever seen an issue cited, so I can't say for sure where it came from) saying that the summer of 67 was the summer of "'retha, Rap, and revolt", referring to the trifecta of Aretha Franklin, the Black power leader Jamil Abdullah al-Amin (who was at the time known as H. Rap Brown, a name he later disclaimed) and the rioting that broke out in several major cities, particularly in Detroit: [Excerpt: John Lee Hooker, "The Motor City is Burning"] The mid sixties were, in many ways, the high point not of Black rights in the US -- for the most part there has been a lot of progress in civil rights in the intervening decades, though not without inevitable setbacks and attacks from the far right, and as movements like the Black Lives Matter movement have shown there is still a long way to go -- but of *hope* for Black rights. The moral force of the arguments made by the civil rights movement were starting to cause real change to happen for Black people in the US for the first time since the Reconstruction nearly a century before. But those changes weren't happening fast enough, and as we heard in the episode on "I Was Made to Love Her", there was not only a growing unrest among Black people, but a recognition that it was actually possible for things to change. A combination of hope and frustration can be a powerful catalyst, and whether Franklin wanted it or not, she was at the centre of things, both because of her newfound prominence as a star with a hit single that couldn't be interpreted as anything other than a political statement and because of her intimate family connections to the struggle. Even the most racist of white people these days pays lip service to the memory of Dr Martin Luther King, and when they do they quote just a handful of sentences from one speech King made in 1963, as if that sums up the full theological and political philosophy of that most complex of men. And as we discussed the last time we looked at Aretha Franklin, King gave versions of that speech, the "I Have a Dream" speech, twice. The most famous version was at the March on Washington, but the first time was a few weeks earlier, at what was at the time the largest civil rights demonstration in American history, in Detroit. Aretha's family connection to that event is made clear by the very opening of King's speech: [Excerpt: Martin Luther King, "Original 'I Have a Dream' Speech"] So as summer 1967 got into swing, and white rock music was going to San Francisco to wear flowers in its hair, Aretha Franklin was at the centre of a very different kind of youth revolution. Franklin's second Atlantic album, Aretha Arrives, brought in some new personnel to the team that had recorded Aretha's first album for Atlantic. Along with the core Muscle Shoals players Jimmy Johnson, Spooner Oldham, Tommy Cogbill and Roger Hawkins, and a horn section led by King Curtis, Wexler and Dowd also brought in guitarist Joe South. South was a white session player from Georgia, who had had a few minor hits himself in the fifties -- he'd got his start recording a cover version of "The Purple People Eater Meets the Witch Doctor", the Big Bopper's B-side to "Chantilly Lace": [Excerpt: Joe South, "The Purple People Eater Meets the Witch Doctor"] He'd also written a few songs that had been recorded by people like Gene Vincent, but he'd mostly become a session player. He'd become a favourite musician of Bob Johnston's, and so he'd played guitar on Simon and Garfunkel's Sounds of Silence and Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme albums: [Excerpt: Simon and Garfunkel, "I am a Rock"] and bass on Bob Dylan's Blonde on Blonde, with Al Kooper particularly praising his playing on "Visions of Johanna": [Excerpt: Bob Dylan, "Visions of Johanna"] South would be the principal guitarist on this and Franklin's next album, before his own career took off in 1968 with "Games People Play": [Excerpt: Joe South, "Games People Play"] At this point, he had already written the other song he's best known for, "Hush", which later became a hit for Deep Purple: [Excerpt: Deep Purple, "Hush"] But he wasn't very well known, and was surprised to get the call for the Aretha Franklin session, especially because, as he put it "I was white and I was about to play behind the blackest genius since Ray Charles" But Jerry Wexler had told him that Franklin didn't care about the race of the musicians she played with, and South settled in as soon as Franklin smiled at him when he played a good guitar lick on her version of the blues standard "Going Down Slow": [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "Going Down Slow"] That was one of the few times Franklin smiled in those sessions though. Becoming an overnight success after years of trying and failing to make a name for herself had been a disorienting experience, and on top of that things weren't going well in her personal life. Her marriage to her manager Ted White was falling apart, and she was performing erratically thanks to the stress. In particular, at a gig in Georgia she had fallen off the stage and broken her arm. She soon returned to performing, but it meant she had problems with her right arm during the recording of the album, and didn't play as much piano as she would have previously -- on some of the faster songs she played only with her left hand. But the recording sessions had to go on, whether or not Aretha was physically capable of playing piano. As we discussed in the episode on Otis Redding, the owners of Atlantic Records were busily negotiating its sale to Warner Brothers in mid-1967. As Wexler said later “Everything in me said, Keep rolling, keep recording, keep the hits coming. She was red hot and I had no reason to believe that the streak wouldn't continue. I knew that it would be foolish—and even irresponsible—not to strike when the iron was hot. I also had personal motivation. A Wall Street financier had agreed to see what we could get for Atlantic Records. While Ahmet and Neshui had not agreed on a selling price, they had gone along with my plan to let the financier test our worth on the open market. I was always eager to pump out hits, but at this moment I was on overdrive. In this instance, I had a good partner in Ted White, who felt the same. He wanted as much product out there as possible." In truth, you can tell from Aretha Arrives that it's a record that was being thought of as "product" rather than one being made out of any kind of artistic impulse. It's a fine album -- in her ten-album run from I Never Loved a Man the Way I Love You through Amazing Grace there's not a bad album and barely a bad track -- but there's a lack of focus. There are only two originals on the album, neither of them written by Franklin herself, and the rest is an incoherent set of songs that show the tension between Franklin and her producers at Atlantic. Several songs are the kind of standards that Franklin had recorded for her old label Columbia, things like "You Are My Sunshine", or her version of "That's Life", which had been a hit for Frank Sinatra the previous year: [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "That's Life"] But mixed in with that are songs that are clearly the choice of Wexler. As we've discussed previously in episodes on Otis Redding and Wilson Pickett, at this point Atlantic had the idea that it was possible for soul artists to cross over into the white market by doing cover versions of white rock hits -- and indeed they'd had some success with that tactic. So while Franklin was suggesting Sinatra covers, Atlantic's hand is visible in the choices of songs like "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" and "96 Tears": [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "96 Tears'] Of the two originals on the album, one, the hit single "Baby I Love You" was written by Ronnie Shannon, the Detroit songwriter who had previously written "I Never Loved a Man (the Way I Love You)": [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "Baby I Love You"] As with the previous album, and several other songs on this one, that had backing vocals by Aretha's sisters, Erma and Carolyn. But the other original on the album, "Ain't Nobody (Gonna Turn Me Around)", didn't, even though it was written by Carolyn: [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "Ain't Nobody (Gonna Turn Me Around)"] To explain why, let's take a little detour and look at the co-writer of the song this episode is about, though we're not going to get to that for a little while yet. We've not talked much about Burt Bacharach in this series so far, but he's one of those figures who has come up a few times in the periphery and will come up again, so here is as good a time as any to discuss him, and bring everyone up to speed about his career up to 1967. Bacharach was one of the more privileged figures in the sixties pop music field. His father, Bert Bacharach (pronounced the same as his son, but spelled with an e rather than a u) had been a famous newspaper columnist, and his parents had bought him a Steinway grand piano to practice on -- they pushed him to learn the piano even though as a kid he wasn't interested in finger exercises and Debussy. What he was interested in, though, was jazz, and as a teenager he would often go into Manhattan and use a fake ID to see people like Dizzy Gillespie, who he idolised, and in his autobiography he talks rapturously of seeing Gillespie playing his bent trumpet -- he once saw Gillespie standing on a street corner with a pet monkey on his shoulder, and went home and tried to persuade his parents to buy him a monkey too. In particular, he talks about seeing the Count Basie band with Sonny Payne on drums as a teenager: [Excerpt: Count Basie, "Kid From Red Bank"] He saw them at Birdland, the club owned by Morris Levy where they would regularly play, and said of the performance "they were just so incredibly exciting that all of a sudden, I got into music in a way I never had before. What I heard in those clubs really turned my head around— it was like a big breath of fresh air when somebody throws open a window. That was when I knew for the first time how much I loved music and wanted to be connected to it in some way." Of course, there's a rather major problem with this story, as there is so often with narratives that musicians tell about their early career. In this case, Birdland didn't open until 1949, when Bacharach was twenty-one and stationed in Germany for his military service, while Sonny Payne didn't join Basie's band until 1954, when Bacharach had been a professional musician for many years. Also Dizzy Gillespie's trumpet bell only got bent on January 6, 1953. But presumably while Bacharach was conflating several memories, he did have some experience in some New York jazz club that led him to want to become a musician. Certainly there were enough great jazz musicians playing the clubs in those days. He went to McGill University to study music for two years, then went to study with Darius Milhaud, a hugely respected modernist composer. Milhaud was also one of the most important music teachers of the time -- among others he'd taught Stockhausen and Xenakkis, and would go on to teach Philip Glass and Steve Reich. This suited Bacharach, who by this point was a big fan of Schoenberg and Webern, and was trying to write atonal, difficult music. But Milhaud had also taught Dave Brubeck, and when Bacharach rather shamefacedly presented him with a composition which had an actual tune, he told Bacharach "Never be ashamed of writing a tune you can whistle". He dropped out of university and, like most men of his generation, had to serve in the armed forces. When he got out of the army, he continued his musical studies, still trying to learn to be an avant-garde composer, this time with Bohuslav Martinů and later with Henry Cowell, the experimental composer we've heard about quite a bit in previous episodes: [Excerpt: Henry Cowell, "Aeolian Harp and Sinister Resonance"] He was still listening to a lot of avant garde music, and would continue doing so throughout the fifties, going to see people like John Cage. But he spent much of that time working in music that was very different from the avant-garde. He got a job as the band leader for the crooner Vic Damone: [Excerpt: Vic Damone. "Ebb Tide"] He also played for the vocal group the Ames Brothers. He decided while he was working with the Ames Brothers that he could write better material than they were getting from their publishers, and that it would be better to have a job where he didn't have to travel, so he got himself a job as a staff songwriter in the Brill Building. He wrote a string of flops and nearly hits, starting with "Keep Me In Mind" for Patti Page: [Excerpt: Patti Page, "Keep Me In Mind"] From early in his career he worked with the lyricist Hal David, and the two of them together wrote two big hits, "Magic Moments" for Perry Como: [Excerpt: Perry Como, "Magic Moments"] and "The Story of My Life" for Marty Robbins: [Excerpt: "The Story of My Life"] But at that point Bacharach was still also writing with other writers, notably Hal David's brother Mack, with whom he wrote the theme tune to the film The Blob, as performed by The Five Blobs: [Excerpt: The Five Blobs, "The Blob"] But Bacharach's songwriting career wasn't taking off, and he got himself a job as musical director for Marlene Dietrich -- a job he kept even after it did start to take off.  Part of the problem was that he intuitively wrote music that didn't quite fit into standard structures -- there would be odd bars of unusual time signatures thrown in, unusual harmonies, and structural irregularities -- but then he'd take feedback from publishers and producers who would tell him the song could only be recorded if he straightened it out. He said later "The truth is that I ruined a lot of songs by not believing in myself enough to tell these guys they were wrong." He started writing songs for Scepter Records, usually with Hal David, but also with Bob Hilliard and Mack David, and started having R&B hits. One song he wrote with Mack David, "I'll Cherish You", had the lyrics rewritten by Luther Dixon to make them more harsh-sounding for a Shirelles single -- but the single was otherwise just Bacharach's demo with the vocals replaced, and you can even hear his voice briefly at the beginning: [Excerpt: The Shirelles, "Baby, It's You"] But he'd also started becoming interested in the production side of records more generally. He'd iced that some producers, when recording his songs, would change the sound for the worse -- he thought Gene McDaniels' version of "Tower of Strength", for example, was too fast. But on the other hand, other producers got a better sound than he'd heard in his head. He and Hilliard had written a song called "Please Stay", which they'd given to Leiber and Stoller to record with the Drifters, and he thought that their arrangement of the song was much better than the one he'd originally thought up: [Excerpt: The Drifters, "Please Stay"] He asked Leiber and Stoller if he could attend all their New York sessions and learn about record production from them. He started doing so, and eventually they started asking him to assist them on records. He and Hilliard wrote a song called "Mexican Divorce" for the Drifters, which Leiber and Stoller were going to produce, and as he put it "they were so busy running Redbird Records that they asked me to rehearse the background singers for them in my office." [Excerpt: The Drifters, "Mexican Divorce"] The backing singers who had been brought in to augment the Drifters on that record were a group of vocalists who had started out as members of a gospel group called the Drinkard singers: [Excerpt: The Drinkard Singers, "Singing in My Soul"] The Drinkard Singers had originally been a family group, whose members included Cissy Drinkard, who joined the group aged five (and who on her marriage would become known as Cissy Houston -- her daughter Whitney would later join the family business), her aunt Lee Warrick, and Warrick's adopted daughter Judy Clay. That group were discovered by the great gospel singer Mahalia Jackson, and spent much of the fifties performing with gospel greats including Jackson herself, Clara Ward, and Sister Rosetta Tharpe. But Houston was also the musical director of a group at her church, the Gospelaires, which featured Lee Warrick's two daughters Dionne and Dee Dee Warwick (for those who don't know, the Warwick sisters' birth name was Warrick, spelled with two rs. A printing error led to it being misspelled the same way as the British city on a record label, and from that point on Dionne at least pronounced the w in her misspelled name). And slowly, the Gospelaires rather than the Drinkard Singers became the focus, with a lineup of Houston, the Warwick sisters, the Warwick sisters' cousin Doris Troy, and Clay's sister Sylvia Shemwell. The real change in the group's fortunes came when, as we talked about a while back in the episode on "The Loco-Motion", the original lineup of the Cookies largely stopped working as session singers to become Ray Charles' Raelettes. As we discussed in that episode, a new lineup of Cookies formed in 1961, but it took a while for them to get started, and in the meantime the producers who had been relying on them for backing vocals were looking elsewhere, and they looked to the Gospelaires. "Mexican Divorce" was the first record to feature the group as backing vocalists -- though reports vary as to how many of them are on the record, with some saying it's only Troy and the Warwicks, others saying Houston was there, and yet others saying it was all five of them. Some of these discrepancies were because these singers were so good that many of them left to become solo singers in fairly short order. Troy was the first to do so, with her hit "Just One Look", on which the other Gospelaires sang backing vocals: [Excerpt: Doris Troy, "Just One Look"] But the next one to go solo was Dionne Warwick, and that was because she'd started working with Bacharach and Hal David as their principal demo singer. She started singing lead on their demos, and hoping that she'd get to release them on her own. One early one was "Make it Easy On Yourself", which was recorded by Jerry Butler, formerly of the Impressions. That record was produced by Bacharach, one of the first records he produced without outside supervision: [Excerpt: Jerry Butler, "Make it Easy On Yourself"] Warwick was very jealous that a song she'd sung the demo of had become a massive hit for someone else, and blamed Bacharach and David. The way she tells the story -- Bacharach always claimed this never happened, but as we've already seen he was himself not always the most reliable of narrators of his own life -- she got so angry she complained to them, and said "Don't make me over, man!" And so Bacharach and David wrote her this: [Excerpt: Dionne Warwick, "Don't Make Me Over"] Incidentally, in the UK, the hit version of that was a cover by the Swinging Blue Jeans: [Excerpt: The Swinging Blue Jeans, "Don't Make Me Over"] who also had a huge hit with "You're No Good": [Excerpt: The Swinging Blue Jeans, "You're No Good"] And *that* was originally recorded by *Dee Dee* Warwick: [Excerpt: Dee Dee Warwick, "You're No Good"] Dee Dee also had a successful solo career, but Dionne's was the real success, making the names of herself, and of Bacharach and David. The team had more than twenty top forty hits together, before Bacharach and David had a falling out in 1971 and stopped working together, and Warwick sued both of them for breach of contract as a result. But prior to that they had hit after hit, with classic records like "Anyone Who Had a Heart": [Excerpt: Dionne Warwick, "Anyone Who Had a Heart"] And "Walk On By": [Excerpt: Dionne Warwick, "Walk On By"] With Doris, Dionne, and Dee Dee all going solo, the group's membership was naturally in flux -- though the departed members would occasionally join their former bandmates for sessions, and the remaining members would sing backing vocals on their ex-members' records. By 1965 the group consisted of Cissy Houston, Sylvia Shemwell, the Warwick sisters' cousin Myrna Smith, and Estelle Brown. The group became *the* go-to singers for soul and R&B records made in New York. They were regularly hired by Leiber and Stoller to sing on their records, and they were also the particular favourites of Bert Berns. They sang backing vocals on almost every record he produced. It's them doing the gospel wails on "Cry Baby" by Garnet Mimms: [Excerpt: Garnet Mimms, "Cry Baby"] And they sang backing vocals on both versions of "If You Need Me" -- Wilson Pickett's original and Solomon Burke's more successful cover version, produced by Berns: [Excerpt: Solomon Burke, "If You Need Me"] They're on such Berns records as "Show Me Your Monkey", by Kenny Hamber: [Excerpt: Kenny Hamber, "Show Me Your Monkey"] And it was a Berns production that ended up getting them to be Aretha Franklin's backing group. The group were becoming such an important part of the records that Atlantic and BANG Records, in particular, were putting out, that Jerry Wexler said "it was only a matter of common decency to put them under contract as a featured group". He signed them to Atlantic and renamed them from the Gospelaires to The Sweet Inspirations.  Dan Penn and Spooner Oldham wrote a song for the group which became their only hit under their own name: [Excerpt: The Sweet Inspirations, "Sweet Inspiration"] But to start with, they released a cover of Pops Staples' civil rights song "Why (Am I treated So Bad)": [Excerpt: The Sweet Inspirations, "Why (Am I Treated So Bad?)"] That hadn't charted, and meanwhile, they'd all kept doing session work. Cissy had joined Erma and Carolyn Franklin on the backing vocals for Aretha's "I Never Loved a Man the Way I Love You": [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "I Never Loved a Man the Way I Love You"] Shortly after that, the whole group recorded backing vocals for Erma's single "Piece of My Heart", co-written and produced by Berns: [Excerpt: Erma Franklin, "Piece of My Heart"] That became a top ten record on the R&B charts, but that caused problems. Aretha Franklin had a few character flaws, and one of these was an extreme level of jealousy for any other female singer who had any level of success and came up in the business after her. She could be incredibly graceful towards anyone who had been successful before her -- she once gave one of her Grammies away to Esther Phillips, who had been up for the same award and had lost to her -- but she was terribly insecure, and saw any contemporary as a threat. She'd spent her time at Columbia Records fuming (with some justification) that Barbra Streisand was being given a much bigger marketing budget than her, and she saw Diana Ross, Gladys Knight, and Dionne Warwick as rivals rather than friends. And that went doubly for her sisters, who she was convinced should be supporting her because of family loyalty. She had been infuriated at John Hammond when Columbia had signed Erma, thinking he'd gone behind her back to create competition for her. And now Erma was recording with Bert Berns. Bert Berns who had for years been a colleague of Jerry Wexler and the Ertegun brothers at Atlantic. Aretha was convinced that Wexler had put Berns up to signing Erma as some kind of power play. There was only one problem with this -- it simply wasn't true. As Wexler later explained “Bert and I had suffered a bad falling-out, even though I had enormous respect for him. After all, he was the guy who brought over guitarist Jimmy Page from England to play on our sessions. Bert, Ahmet, Nesuhi, and I had started a label together—Bang!—where Bert produced Van Morrison's first album. But Bert also had a penchant for trouble. He courted the wise guys. He wanted total control over every last aspect of our business dealings. Finally it was too much, and the Erteguns and I let him go. He sued us for breach of contract and suddenly we were enemies. I felt that he signed Erma, an excellent singer, not merely for her talent but as a way to get back at me. If I could make a hit with Aretha, he'd show me up by making an even bigger hit on Erma. Because there was always an undercurrent of rivalry between the sisters, this only added to the tension.” There were two things that resulted from this paranoia on Aretha's part. The first was that she and Wexler, who had been on first-name terms up to that point, temporarily went back to being "Mr. Wexler" and "Miss Franklin" to each other. And the second was that Aretha no longer wanted Carolyn and Erma to be her main backing vocalists, though they would continue to appear on her future records on occasion. From this point on, the Sweet Inspirations would be the main backing vocalists for Aretha in the studio throughout her golden era [xxcut line (and when the Sweet Inspirations themselves weren't on the record, often it would be former members of the group taking their place)]: [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "Ain't Nobody (Gonna Turn Me Around)"] The last day of sessions for Aretha Arrives was July the twenty-third, 1967. And as we heard in the episode on "I Was Made to Love Her", that was the day that the Detroit riots started. To recap briefly, that was four days of rioting started because of a history of racist policing, made worse by those same racist police overreacting to the initial protests. By the end of those four days, the National Guard, 82nd Airborne Division, and the 101st Airborne from Clarksville were all called in to deal with the violence, which left forty-three dead (of whom thirty-three were Black and only one was a police officer), 1,189 people were injured, and over 7,200 arrested, almost all of them Black. Those days in July would be a turning point for almost every musician based in Detroit. In particular, the police had murdered three members of the soul group the Dramatics, in a massacre of which the author John Hersey, who had been asked by President Johnson to be part of the National Advisory Commission on Civil Disorders but had decided that would compromise his impartiality and did an independent journalistic investigation, said "The episode contained all the mythic themes of racial strife in the United States: the arm of the law taking the law into its own hands; interracial sex; the subtle poison of racist thinking by “decent” men who deny they are racists; the societal limbo into which, ever since slavery, so many young black men have been driven by our country; ambiguous justice in the courts; and the devastation in both black and white human lives that follows in the wake of violence as surely as ruinous and indiscriminate flood after torrents" But these were also the events that radicalised the MC5 -- the group had been playing a gig as Tim Buckley's support act when the rioting started, and guitarist Wayne Kramer decided afterwards to get stoned and watch the fires burning down the city through a telescope -- which police mistook for a rifle, leading to the National Guard knocking down Kramer's door. The MC5 would later cover "The Motor City is Burning", John Lee Hooker's song about the events: [Excerpt: The MC5, "The Motor City is Burning"] It would also be a turning point for Motown, too, in ways we'll talk about in a few future episodes.  And it was a political turning point too -- Michigan Governor George Romney, a liberal Republican (at a time when such people existed) had been the favourite for the Republican Presidential candidacy when he'd entered the race in December 1966, but as racial tensions ramped up in Detroit during the early months of 1967 he'd started trailing Richard Nixon, a man who was consciously stoking racists' fears. President Johnson, the incumbent Democrat, who was at that point still considering standing for re-election, made sure to make it clear to everyone during the riots that the decision to call in the National Guard had been made at the State level, by Romney, rather than at the Federal level.  That wasn't the only thing that removed the possibility of a Romney presidency, but it was a big part of the collapse of his campaign, and the, as it turned out, irrevocable turn towards right-authoritarianism that the party took with Nixon's Southern Strategy. Of course, Aretha Franklin had little way of knowing what was to come and how the riots would change the city and the country over the following decades. What she was primarily concerned about was the safety of her father, and to a lesser extent that of her sister-in-law Earline who was staying with him. Aretha, Carolyn, and Erma all tried to keep in constant touch with their father while they were out of town, and Aretha even talked about hiring private detectives to travel to Detroit, find her father, and get him out of the city to safety. But as her brother Cecil pointed out, he was probably the single most loved man among Black people in Detroit, and was unlikely to be harmed by the rioters, while he was too famous for the police to kill with impunity. Reverend Franklin had been having a stressful time anyway -- he had recently been fined for tax evasion, an action he was convinced the IRS had taken because of his friendship with Dr King and his role in the civil rights movement -- and according to Cecil "Aretha begged Daddy to move out of the city entirely. She wanted him to find another congregation in California, where he was especially popular—or at least move out to the suburbs. But he wouldn't budge. He said that, more than ever, he was needed to point out the root causes of the riots—the economic inequality, the pervasive racism in civic institutions, the woefully inadequate schools in inner-city Detroit, and the wholesale destruction of our neighborhoods by urban renewal. Some ministers fled the city, but not our father. The horror of what happened only recommitted him. He would not abandon his political agenda." To make things worse, Aretha was worried about her father in other ways -- as her marriage to Ted White was starting to disintegrate, she was looking to her father for guidance, and actually wanted him to take over her management. Eventually, Ruth Bowen, her booking agent, persuaded her brother Cecil that this was a job he could do, and that she would teach him everything he needed to know about the music business. She started training him up while Aretha was still married to White, in the expectation that that marriage couldn't last. Jerry Wexler, who only a few months earlier had been seeing Ted White as an ally in getting "product" from Franklin, had now changed his tune -- partly because the sale of Atlantic had gone through in the meantime. He later said “Sometimes she'd call me at night, and, in that barely audible little-girl voice of hers, she'd tell me that she wasn't sure she could go on. She always spoke in generalities. She never mentioned her husband, never gave me specifics of who was doing what to whom. And of course I knew better than to ask. She just said that she was tired of dealing with so much. My heart went out to her. She was a woman who suffered silently. She held so much in. I'd tell her to take as much time off as she needed. We had a lot of songs in the can that we could release without new material. ‘Oh, no, Jerry,' she'd say. ‘I can't stop recording. I've written some new songs, Carolyn's written some new songs. We gotta get in there and cut 'em.' ‘Are you sure?' I'd ask. ‘Positive,' she'd say. I'd set up the dates and typically she wouldn't show up for the first or second sessions. Carolyn or Erma would call me to say, ‘Ree's under the weather.' That was tough because we'd have asked people like Joe South and Bobby Womack to play on the sessions. Then I'd reschedule in the hopes she'd show." That third album she recorded in 1967, Lady Soul, was possibly her greatest achievement. The opening track, and second single, "Chain of Fools", released in November, was written by Don Covay -- or at least it's credited as having been written by Covay. There's a gospel record that came out around the same time on a very small label based in Houston -- "Pains of Life" by Rev. E. Fair And The Sensational Gladys Davis Trio: [Excerpt: Rev. E. Fair And The Sensational Gladys Davis Trio, "Pains of Life"] I've seen various claims online that that record came out shortly *before* "Chain of Fools", but I can't find any definitive evidence one way or the other -- it was on such a small label that release dates aren't available anywhere. Given that the B-side, which I haven't been able to track down online, is called "Wait Until the Midnight Hour", my guess is that rather than this being a case of Don Covay stealing the melody from an obscure gospel record he'd have had little chance to hear, it's the gospel record rewriting a then-current hit to be about religion, but I thought it worth mentioning. The song was actually written by Covay after Jerry Wexler asked him to come up with some songs for Otis Redding, but Wexler, after hearing it, decided it was better suited to Franklin, who gave an astonishing performance: [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "Chain of Fools"] Arif Mardin, the arranger of the album, said of that track “I was listed as the arranger of ‘Chain of Fools,' but I can't take credit. Aretha walked into the studio with the chart fully formed inside her head. The arrangement is based around the harmony vocals provided by Carolyn and Erma. To add heft, the Sweet Inspirations joined in. The vision of the song is entirely Aretha's.” According to Wexler, that's not *quite* true -- according to him, Joe South came up with the guitar part that makes up the intro, and he also said that when he played what he thought was the finished track to Ellie Greenwich, she came up with another vocal line for the backing vocals, which she overdubbed. But the core of the record's sound is definitely pure Aretha -- and Carolyn Franklin said that there was a reason for that. As she said later “Aretha didn't write ‘Chain,' but she might as well have. It was her story. When we were in the studio putting on the backgrounds with Ree doing lead, I knew she was singing about Ted. Listen to the lyrics talking about how for five long years she thought he was her man. Then she found out she was nothing but a link in the chain. Then she sings that her father told her to come on home. Well, he did. She sings about how her doctor said to take it easy. Well, he did too. She was drinking so much we thought she was on the verge of a breakdown. The line that slew me, though, was the one that said how one of these mornings the chain is gonna break but until then she'll take all she can take. That summed it up. Ree knew damn well that this man had been doggin' her since Jump Street. But somehow she held on and pushed it to the breaking point." [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "Chain of Fools"] That made number one on the R&B charts, and number two on the hot one hundred, kept from the top by "Judy In Disguise (With Glasses)" by John Fred and his Playboy Band -- a record that very few people would say has stood the test of time as well. The other most memorable track on the album was the one chosen as the first single, released in September. As Carole King told the story, she and Gerry Goffin were feeling like their career was in a slump. While they had had a huge run of hits in the early sixties through 1965, they had only had two new hits in 1966 -- "Goin' Back" for Dusty Springfield and "Don't Bring Me Down" for the Animals, and neither of those were anything like as massive as their previous hits. And up to that point in 1967, they'd only had one -- "Pleasant Valley Sunday" for the Monkees. They had managed to place several songs on Monkees albums and the TV show as well, so they weren't going to starve, but the rise of self-contained bands that were starting to dominate the charts, and Phil Spector's temporary retirement, meant there simply wasn't the opportunity for them to place material that there had been. They were also getting sick of travelling to the West Coast all the time, because as their children were growing slightly older they didn't want to disrupt their lives in New York, and were thinking of approaching some of the New York based labels and seeing if they needed songs. They were particularly considering Atlantic, because soul was more open to outside songwriters than other genres. As it happened, though, they didn't have to approach Atlantic, because Atlantic approached them. They were walking down Broadway when a limousine pulled up, and Jerry Wexler stuck his head out of the window. He'd come up with a good title that he wanted to use for a song for Aretha, would they be interested in writing a song called "Natural Woman"? They said of course they would, and Wexler drove off. They wrote the song that night, and King recorded a demo the next morning: [Excerpt: Carole King, "(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman (demo)"] They gave Wexler a co-writing credit because he had suggested the title.  King later wrote in her autobiography "Hearing Aretha's performance of “Natural Woman” for the first time, I experienced a rare speechless moment. To this day I can't convey how I felt in mere words. Anyone who had written a song in 1967 hoping it would be performed by a singer who could take it to the highest level of excellence, emotional connection, and public exposure would surely have wanted that singer to be Aretha Franklin." She went on to say "But a recording that moves people is never just about the artist and the songwriters. It's about people like Jerry and Ahmet, who matched the songwriters with a great title and a gifted artist; Arif Mardin, whose magnificent orchestral arrangement deserves the place it will forever occupy in popular music history; Tom Dowd, whose engineering skills captured the magic of this memorable musical moment for posterity; and the musicians in the rhythm section, the orchestral players, and the vocal contributions of the background singers—among them the unforgettable “Ah-oo!” after the first line of the verse. And the promotion and marketing people helped this song reach more people than it might have without them." And that's correct -- unlike "Chain of Fools", this time Franklin did let Arif Mardin do most of the arrangement work -- though she came up with the piano part that Spooner Oldham plays on the record. Mardin said that because of the song's hymn-like feel they wanted to go for a more traditional written arrangement. He said "She loved the song to the point where she said she wanted to concentrate on the vocal and vocal alone. I had written a string chart and horn chart to augment the chorus and hired Ralph Burns to conduct. After just a couple of takes, we had it. That's when Ralph turned to me with wonder in his eyes. Ralph was one of the most celebrated arrangers of the modern era. He had done ‘Early Autumn' for Woody Herman and Stan Getz, and ‘Georgia on My Mind' for Ray Charles. He'd worked with everyone. ‘This woman comes from another planet' was all Ralph said. ‘She's just here visiting.'” [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman"] By this point there was a well-functioning team making Franklin's records -- while the production credits would vary over the years, they were all essentially co-productions by the team of Franklin, Wexler, Mardin and Dowd, all collaborating and working together with a more-or-less unified purpose, and the backing was always by the same handful of session musicians and some combination of the Sweet Inspirations and Aretha's sisters. That didn't mean that occasional guests couldn't get involved -- as we discussed in the Cream episode, Eric Clapton played guitar on "Good to Me as I am to You": [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "Good to Me as I am to You"] Though that was one of the rare occasions on one of these records where something was overdubbed. Clapton apparently messed up the guitar part when playing behind Franklin, because he was too intimidated by playing with her, and came back the next day to redo his part without her in the studio. At this point, Aretha was at the height of her fame. Just before the final batch of album sessions began she appeared in the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade, and she was making regular TV appearances, like one on the Mike Douglas Show where she duetted with Frankie Valli on "That's Life": [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin and Frankie Valli, "That's Life"] But also, as Wexler said “Her career was kicking into high gear. Contending and resolving both the professional and personal challenges were too much. She didn't think she could do both, and I didn't blame her. Few people could. So she let the personal slide and concentrated on the professional. " Her concert promoter Ruth Bowen said of this time "Her father and Dr. King were putting pressure on her to sing everywhere, and she felt obligated. The record company was also screaming for more product. And I had a mountain of offers on my desk that kept getting higher with every passing hour. They wanted her in Europe. They wanted her in Latin America. They wanted her in every major venue in the U.S. TV was calling. She was being asked to do guest appearances on every show from Carol Burnett to Andy Williams to the Hollywood Palace. She wanted to do them all and she wanted to do none of them. She wanted to do them all because she's an entertainer who burns with ambition. She wanted to do none of them because she was emotionally drained. She needed to go away and renew her strength. I told her that at least a dozen times. She said she would, but she didn't listen to me." The pressures from her father and Dr King are a recurring motif in interviews with people about this period. Franklin was always a very political person, and would throughout her life volunteer time and money to liberal political causes and to the Democratic Party, but this was the height of her activism -- the Civil Rights movement was trying to capitalise on the gains it had made in the previous couple of years, and celebrity fundraisers and performances at rallies were an important way to do that. And at this point there were few bigger celebrities in America than Aretha Franklin. At a concert in her home town of Detroit on February the sixteenth, 1968, the Mayor declared the day Aretha Franklin Day. At the same show, Billboard, Record World *and* Cash Box magazines all presented her with plaques for being Female Vocalist of the Year. And Dr. King travelled up to be at the show and congratulate her publicly for all her work with his organisation, the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. Backstage at that show, Dr. King talked to Aretha's father, Reverend Franklin, about what he believed would be the next big battle -- a strike in Memphis: [Excerpt, Martin Luther King, "Mountaintop Speech" -- "And so, as a result of this, we are asking you tonight, to go out and tell your neighbors not to buy Coca-Cola in Memphis. Go by and tell them not to buy Sealtest milk. Tell them not to buy—what is the other bread?—Wonder Bread. And what is the other bread company, Jesse? Tell them not to buy Hart's bread. As Jesse Jackson has said, up to now, only the garbage men have been feeling pain; now we must kind of redistribute the pain. We are choosing these companies because they haven't been fair in their hiring policies; and we are choosing them because they can begin the process of saying, they are going to support the needs and the rights of these men who are on strike. And then they can move on downtown and tell Mayor Loeb to do what is right."] The strike in question was the Memphis Sanitation Workers' strike which had started a few days before.  The struggle for Black labour rights was an integral part of the civil rights movement, and while it's not told that way in the sanitised version of the story that's made it into popular culture, the movement led by King was as much about economic justice as social justice -- King was a democratic socialist, and believed that economic oppression was both an effect of and cause of other forms of racial oppression, and that the rights of Black workers needed to be fought for. In 1967 he had set up a new organisation, the Poor People's Campaign, which was set to march on Washington to demand a program that included full employment, a guaranteed income -- King was strongly influenced in his later years by the ideas of Henry George, the proponent of a universal basic income based on land value tax -- the annual building of half a million affordable homes, and an end to the war in Vietnam. This was King's main focus in early 1968, and he saw the sanitation workers' strike as a major part of this campaign. Memphis was one of the most oppressive cities in the country, and its largely Black workforce of sanitation workers had been trying for most of the 1960s to unionise, and strike-breakers had been called in to stop them, and many of them had been fired by their white supervisors with no notice. They were working in unsafe conditions, for utterly inadequate wages, and the city government were ardent segregationists. After two workers had died on the first of February from using unsafe equipment, the union demanded changes -- safer working conditions, better wages, and recognition of the union. The city council refused, and almost all the sanitation workers stayed home and stopped work. After a few days, the council relented and agreed to their terms, but the Mayor, Henry Loeb, an ardent white supremacist who had stood on a platform of opposing desegregation, and who had previously been the Public Works Commissioner who had put these unsafe conditions in place, refused to listen. As far as he was concerned, he was the only one who could recognise the union, and he wouldn't. The workers continued their strike, marching holding signs that simply read "I am a Man": [Excerpt: Stevie Wonder, "Blowing in the Wind"] The Southern Christian Leadership Conference and the NAACP had been involved in organising support for the strikes from an early stage, and King visited Memphis many times. Much of the time he spent visiting there was spent negotiating with a group of more militant activists, who called themselves The Invaders and weren't completely convinced by King's nonviolent approach -- they believed that violence and rioting got more attention than non-violent protests. King explained to them that while he had been persuaded by Gandhi's writings of the moral case for nonviolent protest, he was also persuaded that it was pragmatically necessary -- asking the young men "how many guns do we have and how many guns do they have?", and pointing out as he often did that when it comes to violence a minority can't win against an armed majority. Rev Franklin went down to Memphis on the twenty-eighth of March to speak at a rally Dr. King was holding, but as it turned out the rally was cancelled -- the pre-rally march had got out of hand, with some people smashing windows, and Memphis police had, like the police in Detroit the previous year, violently overreacted, clubbing and gassing protestors and shooting and killing one unarmed teenage boy, Larry Payne. The day after Payne's funeral, Dr King was back in Memphis, though this time Rev Franklin was not with him. On April the third, he gave a speech which became known as the "Mountaintop Speech", in which he talked about the threats that had been made to his life: [Excerpt: Martin Luther King, "Mountaintop Speech": “And then I got to Memphis. And some began to say the threats, or talk about the threats that were out. What would happen to me from some of our sick white brothers? Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't matter with me now. Because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. So I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord."] The next day, Martin Luther King was shot dead. James Earl Ray, a white supremacist, pled guilty to the murder, and the evidence against him seems overwhelming from what I've read, but the King family have always claimed that the murder was part of a larger conspiracy and that Ray was not the gunman. Aretha was obviously distraught, and she attended the funeral, as did almost every other prominent Black public figure. James Baldwin wrote of the funeral: "In the pew directly before me sat Marlon Brando, Sammy Davis, Eartha Kitt—covered in black, looking like a lost, ten-year-old girl—and Sidney Poitier, in the same pew, or nearby. Marlon saw me, and nodded. The atmosphere was black, with a tension indescribable—as though something, perhaps the heavens, perhaps the earth, might crack. Everyone sat very still. The actual service sort of washed over me, in waves. It wasn't that it seemed unreal; it was the most real church service I've ever sat through in my life, or ever hope to sit through; but I have a childhood hangover thing about not weeping in public, and I was concentrating on holding myself together. I did not want to weep for Martin, tears seemed futile. But I may also have been afraid, and I could not have been the only one, that if I began to weep I would not be able to stop. There was more than enough to weep for, if one was to weep—so many of us, cut down, so soon. Medgar, Malcolm, Martin: and their widows, and their children. Reverend Ralph David Abernathy asked a certain sister to sing a song which Martin had loved—“Once more,” said Ralph David, “for Martin and for me,” and he sat down." Many articles and books on Aretha Franklin say that she sang at King's funeral. In fact she didn't, but there's a simple reason for the confusion. King's favourite song was the Thomas Dorsey gospel song "Take My Hand, Precious Lord", and indeed almost his last words were to ask a trumpet player, Ben Branch, if he would play the song at the rally he was going to be speaking at on the day of his death. At his request, Mahalia Jackson, his old friend, sang the song at his private funeral, which was not filmed, unlike the public part of the funeral that Baldwin described. Four months later, though, there was another public memorial for King, and Franklin did sing "Take My Hand, Precious Lord" at that service, in front of King's weeping widow and children, and that performance *was* filmed, and gets conflated in people's memories with Jackson's unfilmed earlier performance: [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "Take My Hand, Precious Lord (at Martin Luther King Memorial)"] Four years later, she would sing that at Mahalia Jackson's funeral. Through all this, Franklin had been working on her next album, Aretha Now, the sessions for which started more or less as soon as the sessions for Lady Soul had finished. The album was, in fact, bookended by deaths that affected Aretha. Just as King died at the end of the sessions, the beginning came around the time of the death of Otis Redding -- the sessions were cancelled for a day while Wexler travelled to Georgia for Redding's funeral, which Franklin was too devastated to attend, and Wexler would later say that the extra emotion in her performances on the album came from her emotional pain at Redding's death. The lead single on the album, "Think", was written by Franklin and -- according to the credits anyway -- her husband Ted White, and is very much in the same style as "Respect", and became another of her most-loved hits: [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "Think"] But probably the song on Aretha Now that now resonates the most is one that Jerry Wexler tried to persuade her not to record, and was only released as a B-side. Indeed, "I Say a Little Prayer" was a song that had already once been a hit after being a reject.  Hal David, unlike Burt Bacharach, was a fairly political person and inspired by the protest song movement, and had been starting to incorporate his concerns about the political situation and the Vietnam War into his lyrics -- though as with many such writers, he did it in much less specific ways than a Phil Ochs or a Bob Dylan. This had started with "What the World Needs Now is Love", a song Bacharach and David had written for Jackie DeShannon in 1965: [Excerpt: Jackie DeShannon, "What the "World Needs Now is Love"] But he'd become much more overtly political for "The Windows of the World", a song they wrote for Dionne Warwick. Warwick has often said it's her favourite of her singles, but it wasn't a big hit -- Bacharach blamed himself for that, saying "Dionne recorded it as a single and I really blew it. I wrote a bad arrangement and the tempo was too fast, and I really regret making it the way I did because it's a good song." [Excerpt: Dionne Warwick, "The Windows of the World"] For that album, Bacharach and David had written another track, "I Say a Little Prayer", which was not as explicitly political, but was intended by David to have an implicit anti-war message, much like other songs of the period like "Last Train to Clarksville". David had sons who were the right age to be drafted, and while it's never stated, "I Say a Little Prayer" was written from the perspective of a woman whose partner is away fighting in the war, but is still in her thoughts: [Excerpt: Dionne Warwick, "I Say a Little Prayer"] The recording of Dionne Warwick's version was marked by stress. Bacharach had a particular way of writing music to tell the musicians the kind of feel he wanted for the part -- he'd write nonsense words above the stave, and tell the musicians to play the parts as if they were singing those words. The trumpet player hired for the session, Ernie Royal, got into a row with Bacharach about this unorthodox way of communicating musical feeling, and the track ended up taking ten takes (as opposed to the normal three for a Bacharach session), with Royal being replaced half-way through the session. Bacharach was never happy with the track even after all the work it had taken, and he fought to keep it from being released at all, saying the track was taken at too fast a tempo. It eventually came out as an album track nearly eighteen months after it was recorded -- an eternity in 1960s musical timescales -- and DJs started playing it almost as soon as it came out. Scepter records rushed out a single, over Bacharach's objections, but as he later said "One thing I love about the record business is how wrong I was. Disc jockeys all across the country started playing the track, and the song went to number four on the charts and then became the biggest hit Hal and I had ever written for Dionne." [Excerpt: Dionne Warwick, "I Say a Little Prayer"] Oddly, the B-side for Warwick's single, "Theme From the Valley of the Dolls" did even better, reaching number two. Almost as soon as the song was released as a single, Franklin started playing around with the song backstage, and in April 1968, right around the time of Dr. King's death, she recorded a version. Much as Burt Bacharach had been against releasing Dionne Warwick's version, Jerry Wexler was against Aretha even recording the song, saying later “I advised Aretha not to record it. I opposed it for two reasons. First, to cover a song only twelve weeks after the original reached the top of the charts was not smart business. You revisit such a hit eight months to a year later. That's standard practice. But more than that, Bacharach's melody, though lovely, was peculiarly suited to a lithe instrument like Dionne Warwick's—a light voice without the dark corners or emotional depths that define Aretha. Also, Hal David's lyric was also somewhat girlish and lacked the gravitas that Aretha required. “Aretha usually listened to me in the studio, but not this time. She had written a vocal arrangement for the Sweet Inspirations that was undoubtedly strong. Cissy Houston, Dionne's cousin, told me that Aretha was on the right track—she was seeing this song in a new way and had come up with a new groove. Cissy was on Aretha's side. Tommy Dowd and Arif were on Aretha's side. So I had no choice but to cave." It's quite possible that Wexler's objections made Franklin more, rather than less, determined to record the song. She regarded Warwick as a hated rival, as she did almost every prominent female singer of her generation and younger ones, and would undoubtedly have taken the implication that there was something that Warwick was simply better at than her to heart. [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "I Say a Little Prayer"] Wexler realised as soon as he heard it in the studio that Franklin's version was great, and Bacharach agreed, telling Franklin's biographer David Ritz “As much as I like the original recording by Dionne, there's no doubt that Aretha's is a better record. She imbued the song with heavy soul and took it to a far deeper place. Hers is the definitive version.” -- which is surprising because Franklin's version simplifies some of Bacharach's more unusual chord voicings, something he often found extremely upsetting. Wexler still though thought there was no way the song would be a hit, and it's understandable that he thought that way. Not only had it only just been on the charts a few months earlier, but it was the kind of song that wouldn't normally be a hit at all, and certainly not in the kind of rhythmic soul music for which Franklin was known. Almost everything she ever recorded is in simple time signatures -- 4/4, waltz time, or 6/8 -- but this is a Bacharach song so it's staggeringly metrically irregular. Normally even with semi-complex things I'm usually good at figuring out how to break it down into bars, but here I actually had to purchase a copy of the sheet music in order to be sure I was right about what's going on. I'm going to count beats along with the record here so you can see what I mean. The verse has three bars of 4/4, one bar of 2/4, and three more bars of 4/4, all repeated: [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "I Say a Little Prayer" with me counting bars over verse] While the chorus has a bar of 4/4, a bar of 3/4 but with a chord change half way through so it sounds like it's in two if you're paying attention to the harmonic changes, two bars of 4/4, another waltz-time bar sounding like it's in two, two bars of four, another bar of three sounding in two, a bar of four, then three more bars of four but the first of those is *written* as four but played as if it's in six-eight time (but you can keep the four/four pulse going if you're counting): [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "I Say a Little Prayer" with me counting bars over verse] I don't expect you to have necessarily followed that in great detail, but the point should be clear -- this was not some straightforward dance song. Incidentally, that bar played as if it's six/eight was something Aretha introduced to make the song even more irregular than how Bacharach wrote it. And on top of *that* of course the lyrics mixed the secular and the sacred, something that was still taboo in popular music at that time -- this is only a couple of years after Capitol records had been genuinely unsure about putting out the Beach Boys' "God Only Knows", and Franklin's gospel-inflected vocals made the religious connection even more obvious. But Franklin was insistent that the record go out as a single, and eventually it was released as the B-side to the far less impressive "The House That Jack Built". It became a double-sided hit, with the A-side making number two on the R&B chart and number seven on the Hot One Hundred, while "I Say a Little Prayer" made number three on the R&B chart and number ten overall. In the UK, "I Say a Little Prayer" made number four and became her biggest ever solo UK hit. It's now one of her most-remembered songs, while the A-side is largely forgotten: [Excerpt: Aretha Franklin, "I Say a Little Prayer"] For much of the

Play Pause Support the PodcastDownloadShare var srp_player_params_677258bf62e69 = {"title":"","store_title_text":"","albums":[],"hide_artwork":"true","sticky_player":"true","show_album_market":0,"show_track_market":"true","hide_timeline":0,"player_layout":"skin_boxed_tracklist","orderby":"date","order":"DESC","hide_album_title":"true","hide_album_subtitle":"true","hide_player_title":"true","hide_track_title":"true","show_publish_date":"false","show_skip_bt":"false","show_volume_bt":"false","show_speed_bt":"false","show_shuffle_bt":"false","use_play_label":"true","use_play_label_with_icon":"true","progressbar_inline":"true","spectro":"","hide_progressbar":"true","main_settings":"||"} var srp_player_params_args_677258bf62e69 = {"before_widget":"","after_widget":"","before_title":"","after_title":"","widget_id":"arbitrary-instance-677258bf62e69"} if(typeof setIronAudioplayers !== "undefined"){ setIronAudioplayers("arbitrary-instance-677258bf62e69"); } As the temperatures rise, Party Favorz is already diving headfirst into summer with our latest Funky House Music offering, "Feel the Groove". This set is a grand collection of the hottest House Music, NuDisco, and Deep House tracks presently igniting dance floors worldwide. Consider "Feel the Groove" your early ticket to our upcoming pre-summer music extravaganza. This funky house music set starts off with a bang, featuring a fresh reinterpretation of the Soulsearcher classic "Feelin' Love" by DJ Fudge. This is quickly followed by Earth N Days' big room funky house track, "The Kinda Love". Earth N Days have been a staple in our sets since they exploded onto the scene in 2017 with "Just Be Good To Me" – a track that bagged the top spot on Beatport's year-end charts. Since then, they've been churning out tunes that any DJ, regardless of their experience level, would be proud to spin. Notable Earth N Days' contributions in our set include "In My House" and their remix of Hotswing's "Work It". We've also refreshed some all-time favorites for this set, including Eelke Kleijn and Lee Cabrera's spin on Laura Branigan's "Self Control", Buth & Nic Fanciulli's reinterpretation of Marvin Gaye's "I Want You", and the 90s House classic "Another Sleepless Night" revamped by Shawn Christopher & Mike Wilson. In an unexpected twist, Shapeshifters have even revisited their own classic, "Lolas Theme", giving it a new life through a VIP remix. Arguably, the titan of this set is "Fresh" by Crazibiza. This track ingeniously samples "Private Number" by Judy Clay & William Bell (1968), intertwined with the iconic vocals from "Somethings Got a Hold On Me" by the legendary Etta James, which was also famously sampled in Avicii's "Levels". The intertwining of these samples is not entirely new and was initially heard in "You Wish" by Nightmares On Wax, featured in our 2011 Chill Edition, "The World We Live In". But as the adage goes, a good sample is a good sample, and Crazibiza has indeed made it even better. A quick personal update: As some of you may recall, Rick and I were victims of a flooding incident last Christmas, which displaced us into temporary housing. But we're happy to report that our unit has been fully restored and we're moving back in next week. Anticipate our next Peak Hour set to drop a bit earlier than usual – on Thursday of next week. Until then, we invite you to dive into the latest funky house music for summer with "Feel the Groove"! Until the next time...ENJOY! Album: Feel The GrooveGenre: House Music, NuDisco, Deep HouseYear: 2023Total Time: 02:31:23 1. Soulsearcher - Feelin Love (DJ Fudge Extended Remix) 2.

Hello everyone and welcome to another edition of Interviewing the Legends I'm your host Ray Shasho. In a distinguished career as a singer, songwriter and producer, William Bell has come to define the essence of “soul.” Born in Memphis but based in Atlanta since 1970, William Bell was one of the pioneers of the classic Stax/Volt sound, joining such other illustrious musical forces at that label as Otis Redding, Sam and Dave, Isaac Hayes, Booker T. & the MG's, Albert King, Eddie Floyd, Carla and Rufus Thomas, The Staple Singers and the Bar-Kays, among others. After a two-year stint in the Armed Forces, William released his first full-length album in 1967, the classic The Soul of a Bell, which included the Top 20 hit single, “Everybody Loves a Winner.” That same year, blues great Albert King recorded what came to be his signature tune, “Born Under a Bad Sign,” also written by Bell, which has since become one of the most-recorded blues songs of all-time. Among his other classic hits at Stax were “Any Other Way,” “Never Like This Before,” “A Tribute to a King” (William's personal tribute to Stax legend Otis Redding), “I Forgot to be Your Lover,” his internationally acclaimed duet with Judy Clay, “Private Number,” and the perennial Christmas music favorite, “Every Day Will Be Like a Holiday.” As a songwriter, William Bell's compositions have also been recorded by such diverse stars as Otis Redding, Eric Clapton, Billy Idol, Lou Rawls and Rod Stewart, among many others. In February 2017 William received a Grammy for his latest CD on STAX/Concord Records “This Is Where I Live” for Americana Album of the Year and performed on the live TV presentation with Gary Clark, Jr.!  On April 14th, 2023, William Bell will release an Album titled “One Day Closer To Home” with 12 NEW songs. William Bell continues to be a major force in the music industry! Please welcome Singer - Songwriter - Entertainer – Record Producer- Business Man- the legendary William Bell to Interviewing the Legends …   Legendary Soul Singer William Bell Releasing New Album  ‘One Day Closer To Home'   PURCHASE  THE LATEST ALBUM BY WILLIAM BELL entitled ‘ONE DAY CLOSER TO HOME' Available at https://williambellmusic.com/shop-download-music “One Day Closer To Home” is a master class on how to put down the deepest kind of blues from a lifetime achiever. With tremendous groove, the song leans into his signature, soulful sound. Bell doesn't waste a note, word, or bar telling this story of trying to get back to freedom and he makes you believe every bit of it. His vocal delivery is heart-wrenching, loaded with hope and despair all at once. Both the instrumentation and the track's music video are austere and minimal, which keeps the focus on Bell, where it belongs. It's an outstanding song that will catch you and keep you. OFFICIALLY RELEASED APRIL 14TH 2023   FOR MORE INFORMATION ABOUT WILLIAM BELL VISIT www.williambellmusic.com Official website www.facebook.com/TheRealWilliamBell Facebook www.youtube.com/@WilliamBellmusic You Tube https://music.apple.com/us/artist/william-bell/1198111 iTunes   Discography Studio albums Year  Album 1967  The Soul of a Bell 1969 Bound to Happen 1971  Wow ...William Bell 1972  Phases of Reality 1973  Waiting for William Bell 1974  Relating 1977  Coming Back for More It's Time You Took Another Listen 1983  Survivor 1985  Passion 1989 On a Roll 1992 Bedtime Stories 1999 A Portrait Is Forever 2006 New Lease on Life 2016 This Is Where I Live One Day Closer To Home (2023) Compilation albums The Best of William Bell (1988) The Very Best of William Bell (2007) Singles 1961  "You Don't Miss Your Water" 1962 "Any Other Way" 1963  "I Told You So" "Just as I Thought" "Somebody Mentioned Your Name" "I'll Show You" 1964 “Who Will It Be Tomorrow" 1965  "Crying All by Myself" 1966 "Share What You Got (But Keep What You Need)" "Never Like This Before" 1967    "Everybody Loves a Winner" "Eloise (Hang on in There)" "Everyday Will Be Like a Holiday" 1968   "Every Man Ought to Have a Woman” "A Tribute to a King" "Private Number" (with Judy Clay) "I Forgot to Be Your Lover" "My Baby Specializes" (with Judy Clay) 1969   "My Whole World Is Falling Down" "Happy" "Soul-A-Lujah" (with Johnnie Taylor, Eddie Floyd, Pervis Staples, Carla Thomas, Mavis Staples and Cleotha Staples) "Love's Sweet Sensation" (with Mavis Staples) "I Can't Stop" (with Carla Thomas) "Born Under a Bad Sign" 1970   "All I Have to Do Is Dream" (with Carla Thomas) "Lonely Soldier" 1971   "A Penny for Your Thoughts" "All for the Love of a Woman" 1972  "Save Us" 1973  "Lovin' on Borrowed Time" "I've Got to Go on Without You" 1974  "Gettin' What You Want (Losin' What You Got)" "Get It While It's Hot" 1976  "Tryin' to Love Two" 1977  "Coming Back for More" "Easy Comin' Out (Hard Goin' In)" 1983  "Bad Time to Break Up" "Playing Hard to Get" 1985  "Lovin' on Borrowed Time" (new version) 1986 "I Don't Want to Wake Up (Feelin' Guilty)" (with Janice Bulluck) "Headline News" "Passion" "Please Come Home for Christmas" 1989 "Getting Out of Your Bed" 1990 "Need Your Love So Bad" 1992 "Bedtime Story" 1995  "Shake Hands (Come Out Lovin')"     Support us!

Nel 1967 cambia in America la storia della musica popolare e non solo. Per la prima volta finirà in classifica un duo integrato, una vocalist nera, Judy Clay, e un cantante bianco, Billy Vera. La consacrazione avverrà all'Apollo Theater di New York, tempio della musica black.

Two legends in the music industry, Larry Chance and Billy Vera announce their rendition of the timely classic, Stand By Me. Larry Chance is best known as the lead singer of The Earls, famous for their early 60's doo-wop classics, “Remember Then,” “Life Is But A Dream,” and “I Believe,” a song that was dedicated to a former group member who was killed while serving in the armed forces. Likewise, Grammy winner, Billy Vera is best remembered for his 1987 number-one smash “At This Moment,” the heartbreak hit song featured on the TV sitcom, Family Ties, as well as for Storybook Children, his duet with gospel singer Judy Clay. This was the first interracial duo to grace the stage of Harlem's Apollo Theatre in 1968 – an event that is still remembered by the music community to this day. Billy's musical career spans the past four decades and many different musical genres, from R&B to Soul, from Country to Rock-n-roll. Often compared to the vocal stylings of the great blues singers, he remains one of the most respected and greatest vocalists of our time. Billy's Vera is our very special guest today. The Documentary & The Memoir - "Harlem to Hollywood" On Amazon Prime, Amazon Books www.billyvera.com On IG - @billyvera On Twitter - @billybeater On FB - billy.vera www.thejeremiahshow.com

ep 223 - Joe Tex - “Papa was too” pt 3. Ultima puntata dedicata al sample della batteria di Papa Was too, dal..1994 ad oggi. Si parte disinvolti con “Private Number” di Judy Clay e William Bell, e i suoi campionamenti, ma Rappin' 4Tay unisce sapientemente le due produzioni. Tunes di Ol Dirty Bastard, Mc Solaar, MF DOOM, e non solo completano il sound di Snippet!

Barbara plays Keith in this Wednesday edition of the PopMaster Podcast with Scott Mills.

If you’d like to support this show: http://www.everyonelovesguitar.com/support  Artists who have recorded Billy Vera songs include Bonnie Raitt, Robert Plant, Fats Domino, Tom Jones, and Etta James. One of the original blue-eyed soul singers, Billy opens up about the good, the bad, and the ugly of the music business… dealing with his mother’s alcoholism… the peaks and valleys of being in the entertainment industry, and how he survived the valleys… his  flaws and how they impacted his career and his personal life… and some GREAT advice not only for musicians, but for anyone making money. This is an incredibly genuine conversation, filled with personal anecdotes and GREAT stories. Well worth your time to listen Billy grew up in a showbiz family and started performing on television as a young child. A white guy, he shocked crowds at the Apollo Theater in Harlem when was the first person to perform on stage with a black woman (Judy Clay, Dionne Warwick’s cousin) as a duet, singing his hit, Storybook Children. Billy has written and sang #1 hits, was a top in-demand voice-over artist in LA later in life… and has spent the last few years keeping the legacy of early black artists alive Subscribe https://www.everyonelovesguitar.com/subscribe/  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/EveryoneLovesGuitar/ Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/everyonelovesguitar/ 

In this conversation William Bell talks about Stax, its collapse and the effect upon the artists, his relationship and sense of loss with regard to Otis Redding and the rest of his career. William Bell( born July 16, 1939) is one of the great soul singers, but is even more prolific as a songwriter. His hit songs include his first hit You Don't Miss Your Water"; 1968's top 10 hit in the UK "Private Number", a duet with Judy Clay. A s a close friend of Otis Redding he also wrote the amazing "A Tribute to a King", which as he sates during the conversation was written for Otis's family and only released as a single because they insisted upon it.As a songwriter he has written many great tracks including the soul/blues cross over Born Under a Bad Sign, a hit for everyone from Cream, B B King, Jimi Hendrix, Etta James to Homer Simpson. In 2017, Bell was awarded a Grammy for Best Americana Album for his record This Is Where I Live. He performed his hit “Born Under a Bad Sign” alongside Gary Clark Jr. at the 2017 Grammy Awards. Bell was also featured on Rolling Stone's “Best of the Grammys” for that year.

Hace ya unas semanas tratamos brevemente el tema del Soul. Hoy iniciamos una mini serie de programas para abordar un estilo de música que merece mucha más atención de la que le dimos en su momento. Y, como no, nos situamos en la decada de los 60, … otra vez!!! En ese momento, sobre el año 1963, el término “rhytm’n blues” no significaba ni mucho menos lo mismo para los estadounidenses que para los Rolling Stones. Los bluesmen a los que estos idolatraban eran de una generación anterior. En Estados Unidos la urbana e inmaculada “Sherry”, de los Four Seasons, encabezaba la lista de “R&B” a finales de 1962, pese a tratarse de un dudua italoamericano puro y duro, y la razón era muy simple: a los adolescentes negros les gustaba ese sonido tanto como a los blancos. Los Four Seasons de Nueva Jersey, los Impressions de Chicago, los Miracles de Detroit, las Shirelles de Nueva York, todos ellos estaban guisando un estofado posrock’n’roll que daría paso a algo que, más tarde, se llamó SOUL. Si bien el uso de la palabra soul como denominación popular del género no se verificaría hasta la aparición en 1966 de “What is Soul”, el sencillo de Ben E. King, el sonido en sí ya se había introducido en la conciencia del pop en 1957, concretamente el día en que Sam Cooke cambió el espiritual negro por la música profana. Pero fue nuestro amigo Ben E. King el que perfiló con precisión el nuevo estilo. Esto es “What is Soul”. Sam Cooke no fue el primero que adjuró de la iglesia para derretir a las jovencitas: el primer guaperas del góspel de posguerra había sido Sonny Til, el líder de los Orioles, pero Cooke mezclaba como nadie la finura con el rugido del espiritual negro, y cantaba con intensidad y sin esfuerzo. Nació en Clarksdale (Misisipi) en 1931. Cuando tenía nueve años se unió al coro de sus hermanos y hermanas que acompañaban a su padre, pastor baptista, en sus viajes de predicación. Su decisión de abandonar la música religiosa en 1957 cayó muy mal en la feligresía. Así, su primer single “Lovable”, paso sin pena ni gloria y esto le hizo pensar si su decisión había sido acertada. Lo supo cuando publicó su segundo disco “You Send Me”. Éxito instantáneo, el sencillo se aupó al número uno y allí permaneció tres semanas, durante las cuales Cooke se convirtió en ídolo no solo de las chicas negras del Bronx, el público al que en principio se dirigía, sino también de las señoritas judías de Brooklyn. Los éxitos se sucedieron en cascada. Cooke no se explicaba su don: “Me pongo a cantar y me viene solo” declaró en cierta ocasión. Sea como fuese, en todas sus creaciones latía un trasfondo abrasivo que indicaba a las claras que, por mucha cara de bueno que tuviese, más valía no dejarlo a solas con la hermana pequeña de uno. Perfectamente podía haber hecho carrera como delincuente. Era, a un tiempo, ángel y diablo y en su música podemos apreciar al predicador fervoroso y al pecador arrepentido. Pero para todo el mundo era el chico de oro y siempre iba por delante del resto. Tras echar los cimientos de la música soul, fundó su propia discográfica, SAR, con brazo editorial incluido. Eran maniobras prácticamente inauditas en un artista de raza negra. En 1962 la música de Cook adquirió una nueva intensidad, como se aprecia en la cruda “Bring It Home To Me” Y es que, algo estaba cambiando. En ese año, el gobierno de Kennedy había obligado al Comité de Comercio Interestatal a dictar una nueva orden contra la segregación racial en virtud de la cual los pasajeros de los autobuses podían sentarse donde quisieran. Se retiraron de las estaciones los letreros de “blanco” y “negro”, y en los mostradores de las cafeterías se empezó a atender a los clientes con independencia del color de su piel. En septiembre un adolescente llamado James Meredith ganó un pleito y logró que lo admitiesen en la Universidad de Misisipi. Los disturbios subsiguientes se cobraron dos víctimas mortales, pero gracias a la escolta de una guardia armada, Meredith pudo asistir a clase. En la desgarrada “That’s Where It’s At” de 1963, resuenan el orgullo negro y las tribulaciones de la raza aunque, según Bob Stanley, nuestro biógrafo de cabecera, la letra no respondiese tanto al estado de la nación como a la vida del propio Cooke, que por aquel entonces se deshacía en jirones: su esposa Bárbara estaba perdiendo la cabeza por la afición del artista al alcohol y las mujeres, y ese verano, el hijo de ambos, se había ahogado en la piscina de la casa familiar. Una tragedia. Tenía para todo. El día 11 de diciembre de 1964 se lió con quien no debía, una prostituta que huyó con la ropa del cantante mientras él estaba en el baño. Medio desnudo y gritando como un poseso, Cooke asustó tanto a la dueña del motel que la mujer lo mató de un balazo. Nuestras felicitaciones a la asociación del rifle. Su último trabajo fue un sencillo en el que se incluía “A chage is gonna come”, una canción que Cooke compuso después de escuchar el “Blowin in the wind” de Bob Dylan y concluyó que debería escribir algo que reflejase su vida personal y la de sus amigos. La canción es un augurio entreverado de esperanza y optimismo. Es una pena que fuera su epitafio. Si Sam Cooke era la voz del soul, el sello Stax era el molde. Los hermanos Estelle y Jim Stewart fundaron este sello y se instalaron en el ruinoso cine Capitol. El puesto de palomitas de la entrada se convirtió en una tienda de discos llamada Satellite, con cuyos ingresos se sufragaba el estudio de grabación. El hijo de Estelle, Pachy, había estado ensayando con unos chicos del instituto, entre ellos el guitarrista Steve Cropper (apuntad este nombre) y el bajista Donald Dunn, alias “Pato Donald”, que se hacían llamar los Royal Spades y que experimentaban con el country, el R&B y el rockabilly, y que, a fuerza de ensayar, se convirtieron en un grupo conjuntado al máximo, capaz de acompañar a cualquier artista de paso. Y así fue como, un día, se presentó por allí Rufus Thomas, locutor de una emisora local: su hija Carla había compuesto una cancioncilla titulada “Gee Whiz” y quería grabarla. Una vez pasada por el tamiz de los Royal Spades, la canción llegó al top 10. Y es esta… Poco después, un instrumental de una sola nota, sucio y con predominio de metales, titulado “Last Night”, obra de los Royal Spades pero publicado con el nombre los Mar-Keys, llegó nada menos que al número dos. El sello Stax estaba en marcha. Los numerosos éxitos que acumularon en el año 1962 hicieron que el sello Stax se convirtiera en el sonido Memphis y, por ello, se ganó el derecho a colgar un letrero encima de la tienda de discos que rezaba “Souls-ville USA”. Uno de estos éxitos fue, sin lugar a dudas, su famoso “Green Onions”. Los músicos empezaron a demandar el estilo Stax y por el estudio terminó pasando gente como Sam & Dave, Otis Redding, Judy Clay, Eddie Floyd y Johnnie Taylor. El sonido Stax no tardó en hacerse más importante que el artista, y el sello se convirtió en el equivalente sureño de la factoría Spector. Pero no estaban solos. La otra discográfica que definió el floreciente género del soul fue la neoyorquina Atlantic Records. Uno de sus fundadores, el Sr. Ertegun, era un gran amante del blues y, justamente, del blues procedía Ray Charles. En sus comienzos Charles era un pianista dotado del don de imitar a sus ídolos: Louis Jordan, Nat King Cole o Charles Brown, pero cuando el Sr. Charles empezó a componer sus propias obras, y la discográfica había sabido esperar pacientemente, todo cambió. Compuso y grabó “I got a woman”, su primer sencillo con el sello que fue número uno de la lista de R&B en enero de 1955. Más tarde, esta canción conocería las versiones unos “desconocidos” tales como Elvis Presley o los Beatles. La bomba Ray Charles estalló en 1959, cuando el hombre compuso, sobre una sencilla pieza, concretamente una antífona, religiosa, de seis minutos de duración y que era mitad revival evangélico, mitad procacidad burdelera. Lo nunca visto!!! La pieza se llamaba, bueno, y se llama… “What’d I Say” Desde ese momento y hasta mediada la década de los 60 rara sería la estrella en ciernes, desde Stevie Wonder a los Searchers, que no citase entre sus influencias a Ray Charles: “el hermano Ray”, “el genio”, “el hermano número uno del soul”… etc. Convencido de sus dotes, el artista picó en otros géneros: primero grabó jazz instrumental; después coqueteó con el country en una revisión del clásico “Georgia on My Mind”, otro número uno en 1.960 En la canción, Ray se enfrenta a dos lealtades encontradas. El sur era su patria, pero en 1960 también era el campo de batalla por los derechos civiles de los negros. Dos años más tarde, Charles grabó un elepé entero con la misma temática. Hacía falta mucho valor para mezclar country y soul, pero también mucha sutileza. A estas alturas, el artista ya había dejado el sello Atlantis para aceptar una jugosa suma de ABC-Paramount. Sin nadie que le parara los pies, el hermano Ray se lanzó de cabeza al “countrypolitan” orquestal y firmó dos de los singles de más éxito en su trayectoria, “I can’t stop loving you” y “You don’t know me” A mediados de la década de 1960 Ray Charles ya había exprimido el truco del country hasta la última gota y perdió tanta credibilidad ante la crítica y los colegas del gremio que al terminar el decenio apenas se hablaba de él. Tal vez una de las estrellas de Atlantis más injustamente infravaloradas fue Bárbara Lewis. Nuestro amigo Bob Stanley, en su libro “La historia del pop moderno” dice de ella: “su voz de jade pulido en “Hello Stranger”, tema con ritmo de shuffle, a caballo entre la música de verbena y la de tocador: morirá feliz el afortunado a quien, siquiera una sola vez en su vida, le canten personalmente esta canción”. Bueno, pues esta es la canción… Pero el mayor fichaje del sello, en todos los sentidos, fue Aretha Franklin. Dueña de una voz capaz de reventar un micrófono a medio kilómetro, Aretha cantaba como una fuerza de la naturaleza. La futura dama del Soul ya había grabado algunos temas para el sello Columbia, pero Ertegun la animó y convenció para cambiar de sello discográfico y en Atlantic echó el resto. Aretha había nacido el 25 de marzo de 1942 en Memphis (Tennessee), y creció en Detroit. Es hija del predicador Clarence LeVaughn Franklin y la cantante de góspel Bárbara Franklin. Su madre abandonó a su familia cuando Aretha era una niña, y poco tiempo después, murió. Su padre vio pronto el talento de Aretha, por lo que quiso que tomara clases de piano, pero ella lo rechazó y prefirió aprender por sí sola con la ayuda de grabaciones. En este tiempo, permanecía en un tour itinerante de góspel, donde uno de los primeros temas que interpretó fue «Precious Lord». Los genios del góspel Clara Ward, James Cleveland y Mahalia Jackson eran íntimos de su familia, por lo que Aretha creció rodeada de ellos. Fue precoz en todos los aspectos de su vida. Con doce años tuvo a su primer hijo, y dos años después tuvo el segundo. Esto que suena es esa primera grabación con su grupo de góspel. Por cierto, ya me diréis si os suena… Cuando Aretha abandonó Columbia para fichar por la compañía discográfica Atlantic Records, el productor Jerry Wexler se propuso sacarle todo el soul que llevaba dentro. El primer single que grabó para Atlantic Records fue «I never loved a man (the way I love you)”. Este tema ha sido avalado por muchos críticos como una de las grandes canciones del soul, y la revista Rolling Stone escribió: «Franklin ha grabado su versión de la maravilla soul, un lamento sobre qué-mal-me-has-tratado, con la Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section, unos chicos blancos de Alabama». El single irrumpió en todas las radios, pero aún lo haría con mucha más fuerza “Respect”, versión de la canción que Otis Redding había grabado en 1965 y con la que Aretha se consagraba definitivamente. La canción se grabó en los estudios de Atlantic, en Nueva York, el 14 de febrero de 1967. A la versión original de Redding se le añadió un puente y un solo de saxo, de la mano de King Curtis. El 10 de marzo de 1967 se editaba un álbum en el que Aretha también contribuyó como compositora con varios temas. Destacamos este "Dr. Feelgood (Love Is a Serious Business)". Un precioso blues. Ese mismo año, consiguió dos premios Grammy, siendo la segunda mujer en hacerlo. También en 1967, concretamente el 4 de agosto, editó un nuevo disco del que nos apetece destacar uno de sus temas. Se trata de “Satisfaction”, el éxito de los Rolling. Vamos a oir una versión, grabada en directo, en el Olimpia de Paris en el año 1968. Nos despedimos del programa de hoy y de nuestra admirada Aretha Franklin, ahora si, para siempre, porque como sabeis, Aretha Franklin falleció el pasado día 16 de agosto, a la edad de 76 años en su domicilio de Detroit. No obstante, su larga trayectoria profesional da para muchas más horas de programación, horas que le dedicaremos con muchísimo gusto. Cerramos pues este programa con su gran éxito "Chain of fools", un tema incluido en su disco Lady Soul, editado en 1.968, y con el que volvería a conocer el éxito masivo.

Hace ya unas semanas tratamos brevemente el tema del Soul. Hoy iniciamos una mini serie de programas para abordar un estilo de música que merece mucha más atención de la que le dimos en su momento. Y, como no, nos situamos en la decada de los 60, … otra vez!!! En ese momento, sobre el año 1963, el término “rhytm’n blues” no significaba ni mucho menos lo mismo para los estadounidenses que para los Rolling Stones. Los bluesmen a los que estos idolatraban eran de una generación anterior. En Estados Unidos la urbana e inmaculada “Sherry”, de los Four Seasons, encabezaba la lista de “R&B” a finales de 1962, pese a tratarse de un dudua italoamericano puro y duro, y la razón era muy simple: a los adolescentes negros les gustaba ese sonido tanto como a los blancos. Los Four Seasons de Nueva Jersey, los Impressions de Chicago, los Miracles de Detroit, las Shirelles de Nueva York, todos ellos estaban guisando un estofado posrock’n’roll que daría paso a algo que, más tarde, se llamó SOUL. Si bien el uso de la palabra soul como denominación popular del género no se verificaría hasta la aparición en 1966 de “What is Soul”, el sencillo de Ben E. King, el sonido en sí ya se había introducido en la conciencia del pop en 1957, concretamente el día en que Sam Cooke cambió el espiritual negro por la música profana. Pero fue nuestro amigo Ben E. King el que perfiló con precisión el nuevo estilo. Esto es “What is Soul”. Sam Cooke no fue el primero que adjuró de la iglesia para derretir a las jovencitas: el primer guaperas del góspel de posguerra había sido Sonny Til, el líder de los Orioles, pero Cooke mezclaba como nadie la finura con el rugido del espiritual negro, y cantaba con intensidad y sin esfuerzo. Nació en Clarksdale (Misisipi) en 1931. Cuando tenía nueve años se unió al coro de sus hermanos y hermanas que acompañaban a su padre, pastor baptista, en sus viajes de predicación. Su decisión de abandonar la música religiosa en 1957 cayó muy mal en la feligresía. Así, su primer single “Lovable”, paso sin pena ni gloria y esto le hizo pensar si su decisión había sido acertada. Lo supo cuando publicó su segundo disco “You Send Me”. Éxito instantáneo, el sencillo se aupó al número uno y allí permaneció tres semanas, durante las cuales Cooke se convirtió en ídolo no solo de las chicas negras del Bronx, el público al que en principio se dirigía, sino también de las señoritas judías de Brooklyn. Los éxitos se sucedieron en cascada. Cooke no se explicaba su don: “Me pongo a cantar y me viene solo” declaró en cierta ocasión. Sea como fuese, en todas sus creaciones latía un trasfondo abrasivo que indicaba a las claras que, por mucha cara de bueno que tuviese, más valía no dejarlo a solas con la hermana pequeña de uno. Perfectamente podía haber hecho carrera como delincuente. Era, a un tiempo, ángel y diablo y en su música podemos apreciar al predicador fervoroso y al pecador arrepentido. Pero para todo el mundo era el chico de oro y siempre iba por delante del resto. Tras echar los cimientos de la música soul, fundó su propia discográfica, SAR, con brazo editorial incluido. Eran maniobras prácticamente inauditas en un artista de raza negra. En 1962 la música de Cook adquirió una nueva intensidad, como se aprecia en la cruda “Bring It Home To Me” Y es que, algo estaba cambiando. En ese año, el gobierno de Kennedy había obligado al Comité de Comercio Interestatal a dictar una nueva orden contra la segregación racial en virtud de la cual los pasajeros de los autobuses podían sentarse donde quisieran. Se retiraron de las estaciones los letreros de “blanco” y “negro”, y en los mostradores de las cafeterías se empezó a atender a los clientes con independencia del color de su piel. En septiembre un adolescente llamado James Meredith ganó un pleito y logró que lo admitiesen en la Universidad de Misisipi. Los disturbios subsiguientes se cobraron dos víctimas mortales, pero gracias a la escolta de una guardia armada, Meredith pudo asistir a clase. En la desgarrada “That’s Where It’s At” de 1963, resuenan el orgullo negro y las tribulaciones de la raza aunque, según Bob Stanley, nuestro biógrafo de cabecera, la letra no respondiese tanto al estado de la nación como a la vida del propio Cooke, que por aquel entonces se deshacía en jirones: su esposa Bárbara estaba perdiendo la cabeza por la afición del artista al alcohol y las mujeres, y ese verano, el hijo de ambos, se había ahogado en la piscina de la casa familiar. Una tragedia. Tenía para todo. El día 11 de diciembre de 1964 se lió con quien no debía, una prostituta que huyó con la ropa del cantante mientras él estaba en el baño. Medio desnudo y gritando como un poseso, Cooke asustó tanto a la dueña del motel que la mujer lo mató de un balazo. Nuestras felicitaciones a la asociación del rifle. Su último trabajo fue un sencillo en el que se incluía “A chage is gonna come”, una canción que Cooke compuso después de escuchar el “Blowin in the wind” de Bob Dylan y concluyó que debería escribir algo que reflejase su vida personal y la de sus amigos. La canción es un augurio entreverado de esperanza y optimismo. Es una pena que fuera su epitafio. Si Sam Cooke era la voz del soul, el sello Stax era el molde. Los hermanos Estelle y Jim Stewart fundaron este sello y se instalaron en el ruinoso cine Capitol. El puesto de palomitas de la entrada se convirtió en una tienda de discos llamada Satellite, con cuyos ingresos se sufragaba el estudio de grabación. El hijo de Estelle, Pachy, había estado ensayando con unos chicos del instituto, entre ellos el guitarrista Steve Cropper (apuntad este nombre) y el bajista Donald Dunn, alias “Pato Donald”, que se hacían llamar los Royal Spades y que experimentaban con el country, el R&B y el rockabilly, y que, a fuerza de ensayar, se convirtieron en un grupo conjuntado al máximo, capaz de acompañar a cualquier artista de paso. Y así fue como, un día, se presentó por allí Rufus Thomas, locutor de una emisora local: su hija Carla había compuesto una cancioncilla titulada “Gee Whiz” y quería grabarla. Una vez pasada por el tamiz de los Royal Spades, la canción llegó al top 10. Y es esta… Poco después, un instrumental de una sola nota, sucio y con predominio de metales, titulado “Last Night”, obra de los Royal Spades pero publicado con el nombre los Mar-Keys, llegó nada menos que al número dos. El sello Stax estaba en marcha. Los numerosos éxitos que acumularon en el año 1962 hicieron que el sello Stax se convirtiera en el sonido Memphis y, por ello, se ganó el derecho a colgar un letrero encima de la tienda de discos que rezaba “Souls-ville USA”. Uno de estos éxitos fue, sin lugar a dudas, su famoso “Green Onions”. Los músicos empezaron a demandar el estilo Stax y por el estudio terminó pasando gente como Sam & Dave, Otis Redding, Judy Clay, Eddie Floyd y Johnnie Taylor. El sonido Stax no tardó en hacerse más importante que el artista, y el sello se convirtió en el equivalente sureño de la factoría Spector. Pero no estaban solos. La otra discográfica que definió el floreciente género del soul fue la neoyorquina Atlantic Records. Uno de sus fundadores, el Sr. Ertegun, era un gran amante del blues y, justamente, del blues procedía Ray Charles. En sus comienzos Charles era un pianista dotado del don de imitar a sus ídolos: Louis Jordan, Nat King Cole o Charles Brown, pero cuando el Sr. Charles empezó a componer sus propias obras, y la discográfica había sabido esperar pacientemente, todo cambió. Compuso y grabó “I got a woman”, su primer sencillo con el sello que fue número uno de la lista de R&B en enero de 1955. Más tarde, esta canción conocería las versiones unos “desconocidos” tales como Elvis Presley o los Beatles. La bomba Ray Charles estalló en 1959, cuando el hombre compuso, sobre una sencilla pieza, concretamente una antífona, religiosa, de seis minutos de duración y que era mitad revival evangélico, mitad procacidad burdelera. Lo nunca visto!!! La pieza se llamaba, bueno, y se llama… “What’d I Say” Desde ese momento y hasta mediada la década de los 60 rara sería la estrella en ciernes, desde Stevie Wonder a los Searchers, que no citase entre sus influencias a Ray Charles: “el hermano Ray”, “el genio”, “el hermano número uno del soul”… etc. Convencido de sus dotes, el artista picó en otros géneros: primero grabó jazz instrumental; después coqueteó con el country en una revisión del clásico “Georgia on My Mind”, otro número uno en 1.960 En la canción, Ray se enfrenta a dos lealtades encontradas. El sur era su patria, pero en 1960 también era el campo de batalla por los derechos civiles de los negros. Dos años más tarde, Charles grabó un elepé entero con la misma temática. Hacía falta mucho valor para mezclar country y soul, pero también mucha sutileza. A estas alturas, el artista ya había dejado el sello Atlantis para aceptar una jugosa suma de ABC-Paramount. Sin nadie que le parara los pies, el hermano Ray se lanzó de cabeza al “countrypolitan” orquestal y firmó dos de los singles de más éxito en su trayectoria, “I can’t stop loving you” y “You don’t know me” A mediados de la década de 1960 Ray Charles ya había exprimido el truco del country hasta la última gota y perdió tanta credibilidad ante la crítica y los colegas del gremio que al terminar el decenio apenas se hablaba de él. Tal vez una de las estrellas de Atlantis más injustamente infravaloradas fue Bárbara Lewis. Nuestro amigo Bob Stanley, en su libro “La historia del pop moderno” dice de ella: “su voz de jade pulido en “Hello Stranger”, tema con ritmo de shuffle, a caballo entre la música de verbena y la de tocador: morirá feliz el afortunado a quien, siquiera una sola vez en su vida, le canten personalmente esta canción”. Bueno, pues esta es la canción… Pero el mayor fichaje del sello, en todos los sentidos, fue Aretha Franklin. Dueña de una voz capaz de reventar un micrófono a medio kilómetro, Aretha cantaba como una fuerza de la naturaleza. La futura dama del Soul ya había grabado algunos temas para el sello Columbia, pero Ertegun la animó y convenció para cambiar de sello discográfico y en Atlantic echó el resto. Aretha había nacido el 25 de marzo de 1942 en Memphis (Tennessee), y creció en Detroit. Es hija del predicador Clarence LeVaughn Franklin y la cantante de góspel Bárbara Franklin. Su madre abandonó a su familia cuando Aretha era una niña, y poco tiempo después, murió. Su padre vio pronto el talento de Aretha, por lo que quiso que tomara clases de piano, pero ella lo rechazó y prefirió aprender por sí sola con la ayuda de grabaciones. En este tiempo, permanecía en un tour itinerante de góspel, donde uno de los primeros temas que interpretó fue «Precious Lord». Los genios del góspel Clara Ward, James Cleveland y Mahalia Jackson eran íntimos de su familia, por lo que Aretha creció rodeada de ellos. Fue precoz en todos los aspectos de su vida. Con doce años tuvo a su primer hijo, y dos años después tuvo el segundo. Esto que suena es esa primera grabación con su grupo de góspel. Por cierto, ya me diréis si os suena… Cuando Aretha abandonó Columbia para fichar por la compañía discográfica Atlantic Records, el productor Jerry Wexler se propuso sacarle todo el soul que llevaba dentro. El primer single que grabó para Atlantic Records fue «I never loved a man (the way I love you)”. Este tema ha sido avalado por muchos críticos como una de las grandes canciones del soul, y la revista Rolling Stone escribió: «Franklin ha grabado su versión de la maravilla soul, un lamento sobre qué-mal-me-has-tratado, con la Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section, unos chicos blancos de Alabama». El single irrumpió en todas las radios, pero aún lo haría con mucha más fuerza “Respect”, versión de la canción que Otis Redding había grabado en 1965 y con la que Aretha se consagraba definitivamente. La canción se grabó en los estudios de Atlantic, en Nueva York, el 14 de febrero de 1967. A la versión original de Redding se le añadió un puente y un solo de saxo, de la mano de King Curtis. El 10 de marzo de 1967 se editaba un álbum en el que Aretha también contribuyó como compositora con varios temas. Destacamos este "Dr. Feelgood (Love Is a Serious Business)". Un precioso blues. Ese mismo año, consiguió dos premios Grammy, siendo la segunda mujer en hacerlo. También en 1967, concretamente el 4 de agosto, editó un nuevo disco del que nos apetece destacar uno de sus temas. Se trata de “Satisfaction”, el éxito de los Rolling. Vamos a oir una versión, grabada en directo, en el Olimpia de Paris en el año 1968. Nos despedimos del programa de hoy y de nuestra admirada Aretha Franklin, ahora si, para siempre, porque como sabeis, Aretha Franklin falleció el pasado día 16 de agosto, a la edad de 76 años en su domicilio de Detroit. No obstante, su larga trayectoria profesional da para muchas más horas de programación, horas que le dedicaremos con muchísimo gusto. Cerramos pues este programa con su gran éxito "Chain of fools", un tema incluido en su disco Lady Soul, editado en 1.968, y con el que volvería a conocer el éxito masivo.

Billy grew up in a showbiz family and started performing on television as a young child. A white guy, he shocked crowds at the Apollo Theater in Harlem when was the first person to perform on stage with a black woman (Judy Clay, Dionne Warwick’s cousin) as a duet, singing his hit, Storybook Children. Billy has written and sang #1 hits, was a top in-demand voice-over artist in LA later in life… and has spent the last few years keeping the legacy of early black artists alive... Artists who have recorded Billy Vera songs include Bonnie Raitt, Robert Plant, Fats Domino, Tom Jones, and Etta James. One of the original blue-eyed soul singers, Billy opens up about the good, the bad, and the ugly of the music business… dealing with his mother’s alcoholism… the peaks and valleys of being in the entertainment industry, and how he survived the valleys… his  flaws and how they impacted his career and his personal life… and some GREAT advice not only for musicians, but for anyone making money. This is an incredibly genuine conversation, filled with personal anecdotes and stories you can never hear from anyone else. Well worth your time to listen: Subscribe https://www.EveryoneLovesGuitar.com Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/EveryoneLovesGuitar/ Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/everyonelovesguitar/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/ELovesGuitar

puntata nr 84..Si inizia con “Private Number” di Judy Clay e William Bell del 1968,..campionata da artisti del calibro dei Nightmares on Wax, Timbaland..passando dagli svedesi Timbuctu e non solo...Si alzano i bpm con “Liquid Spirit” di Gregory Porter e i suoi..fortunati remix, dal sapore elettronico. Infine ci si rilassa un po'..con Desmon Dekker e la sua “007 (Shanty town)” 1967 e un minimix di..brani che girano sul fortunato riddim…..soul/hip-hop/remix/reggae

puntata nr 84..Si inizia con “Private Number” di Judy Clay e William Bell del 1968,..campionata da artisti del calibro dei Nightmares on Wax, Timbaland..passando dagli svedesi Timbuctu e non solo...Si alzano i bpm con “Liquid Spirit” di Gregory Porter e i suoi..fortunati remix, dal sapore elettronico. Infine ci si rilassa un po’..con Desmon Dekker e la sua “007 (Shanty town)” 1967 e un minimix di..brani che girano sul fortunato riddim…..soul/hip-hop/remix/reggae

puntata nr 84..Si inizia con “Private Number” di Judy Clay e William Bell del 1968,..campionata da artisti del calibro dei Nightmares on Wax, Timbaland..passando dagli svedesi Timbuctu e non solo...Si alzano i bpm con “Liquid Spirit” di Gregory Porter e i suoi..fortunati remix, dal sapore elettronico. Infine ci si rilassa un po’..con Desmon Dekker e la sua “007 (Shanty town)” 1967 e un minimix di..brani che girano sul fortunato riddim…..soul/hip-hop/remix/reggae

In our fourth episode, we look at William Bell and Judy Clay's "Private Number" as sampled by Cyrus Estaban & Frankie J, among MANY others, in Rappin 4' Tay's "Playaz Club". We also discuss the proven chemistry between hip-hop and kung fu. If you appreciate what I'm doing with The Sample Study, I'd greatly appreciate you telling me so, becoming a Patron or making a one-time donation. Twitter       Patreon       Paypal I'm also taking sample requests or questions for the show at samplestudycast(at)gmail(d0t)com, with the subject Questions or Requests.

Billy Vera is a multi-faceted performer, songwriter, actor, producer, bandleader of The Beaters, and entertainment industry Renaissance man. He’s written numerous hit singles, including “Mean Old World” by Rick Nelson, “Make Me Belong to You” by Barbara Lewis, Dolly Parton’s #1 country single “I Really Got the Feeling,” and “At This Moment,” which rocketed to the top of the Billboard pop rankings following a memorable usage on the popular TV show Family Ties. He made his charting debut as an artist on Atlantic Records with the self-penned Top 20 R&B single, “Storybook Children,” a groundbreaking interracial duet with Judy Clay. Other Billy Vera songs of note include Bonnie Raitt’s recording of “Papa Come Quick (Jody & Chico)" and “Room With a View,” a modern blues classic that’s been recorded by Eric Burdon, Johnny Adams, and Lou Rawls, who released a handful of albums co-produced by Vera . The long list of additional artists who’ve covered Billy’s songs includes The Shirelles, Robert Plant, Fats Domino, Don Williams, Gregory Isaac, Etta James, Nona Hendryx, Tom Jones, Little Milton, Steve Goodman, and George Benson. Vera launched his acting career with an appearance in the cult classic film Buckaroo Bonzai, and went on to appear in Oliver Stone’s The Doors, the Bruce Willis movie Blind Date, and TV shows such as Alice, Baywatch, Boy Meets World, and Beverly Hills 90201. A noted music historian, Billy has produced over 200 reissue albums, earning multiple Grammy nominations, and a 2013 win for his work on the Ray Charles box set, Singular Genius: The Complete ABC Singles. His historically-oriented radio show, Billy Vera’s Rock ‘n’ Roll Party, earned him a Peabody Award for Excellence in Radio Broadcasting and led to a career as a voiceover artist. He is the voice of major advertising campaigns by Burger King, Honda, Toyota, Mercury, and others, as well as the singer of TV show theme songs, including Empty Nest and The King of Queens. He was honored with a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, and tells the remarkable story of his varied career in the new memoir, Billy Vera: Harlem to Hollywood.

Musician, actor, TV theme singer, voice-over announcer – Billy Vera is all of those things. He scored several R&B hits in the late Sixties, including “Country Girl, City Man,” a duet with Judy Clay. But, Billy is best known for his surprise #1 hit in 1987, “At This Moment,” which gained popularity from being included on the hit TV show Family Ties. Yet, he’s also an avid music historian – writing liner notes to countless CDs.His latest project is penning the notes to the brand new Little Richard box set called Directly From My Heart, from Specialty Records, and Concord Music Group.

Episode 7 - A Little Bit of Soul I've been really slack, Whatever.........blah blah blah. But never to fret, here is a new episode for you to enjoy! Now with some added Soul just to mix it up, one time only! Playlist files: Ron Wilson & The Skatalites - Lonely Man (2:40) Wailers - Playboy (2:22) Ferdy Nelson - Weeping and Wailing (2:26) Keith and Tex - Hypnotizing Eyes (2:53) Deal's Gone Bad - Shine (3:39) The Bang - I'm a Good Woman (2:38) Marvelettes - I Need Someone (2:35) Judy Clay and William Bell - My Baby Specializes (2:48) Donald Height - You're Gonna Miss Me (2:09) Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell - Hold Me Oh My Darling (2:38) Jackie Opel - My Girl (2:25)Supremes - Ask Any Girl (2:58) David Ruffin - I've Lost Everything I've Ever Loved (2:41) Ansel and the Meditations - Tricked (3:07) Amy Winehouse - Cupid (3:41) The Drastics - The Love You Save (3:05)

"Needle in a Haystack" Velvelettes "Gee Whiz" Carla Thomas "And I love him" Esther Phillips "I cried a tear" Lavern Baker "Precious precious" Jackie Moore "Wild wild young men" Ruth Brown "Release me" Esther Phillips "Your sweet lovin'" Margie Joseph "give him a great big kiss" the shangri-las "It ain't long enough" Judy Clay "Humble me" Sharon Jones