Song Essays

Regionally identifying The Joe Jeffrey Group's "My Pledge Of Love" by its driving sound alone is a virtual impossibility (for what it's worth, it was waxed in Cleveland). Maybe it was this generic sound, along with the song's bubbly feel, that failed to enthrall the nation's soul fans. However, pop consumers snapped up the Wand label 45 in droves, catapulting the song to major-hit status in 1969. Jeffrey's warm vocal and chunky rhythm-guitar work might best be described as pop-soul (his subsequent LP included covers of "Kind Of A Drag" and "Up Up And Away" -- hardly regulation soul fare). But "My Pledge Of Love" is an impossibly catchy delight, sporting an unpredictable chord progression, insistent strings, and an out-of-left-field call-and-response bridge. Alas, one-hit wonder Jeffrey never duplicated his initial success.

-- Bill Dahl

I DON'T WANT TO CRY: Chuck Jackson

Want the ultimate embodiment of uptown soul -- the suave, urbane, violin-swept sound that romanced the New York R&B world during the early '60s? Well, here it is. Chuck Jackson's splendid macho baritone swaggers through this Latin-tinged number, which boasts a majestic arrangement by Carole King. Chuck and his prolific producer Luther Dixon coaxed the song out of the singer's painful real-life experience -- seems he lost out to one of The Flamingos for a lady's affections. Kind of hard to believe in retrospect, considering how debonair this ex-member of The Dell-Vikings was -- and continues to be. "I Don't Want To Cry" kicked off an incredible hit-making run for the South Carolina native. He followed it up with "I Wake Up Crying," "Any Day Now (My Wild Beautiful Bird)," and "Tell Him I'm Not Home," for Florence Greenberg's New York-based Wand Records.

-- Bill Dahl

HARLEM SHUFFLE: Bob & Earl

You couldn't tell the singers populating the Los Angeles doo-wop circuit without a scorecard; its leading members pulled simultaneous duty in a dizzying number of aggregations. That interchangeability is mirrored in the origins of "Harlem Shuffle." Bob Relf and Earl Nelson both answered to a slew of aliases. For example, Relf recorded as Bobby Garrett, while Nelson scored a hit in '65 as Jackie Lee with his dance rave-up "The Duck" after doing time with the Hollywood Flames during their glory days. Reportedly arranged by a young Barry White, "Harlem Shuffle" is a minor-key throbber punctuated by trumpet blasts and rumbling, echo-laden percussion -- the duo's vocal interplay presaging the melismatic thrills of Sam & Dave. Since its 1963 debut on the Marc logo, "Harlem Shuffle" has attracted high-profile cover action; everyone from platinum-coiffed Georgia rocker Wayne Cochran to The Rolling Stones has taken a shot at it.

-- Bill Dahl

IN THE HEAT OF THE NIGHT: Ray Charles

Hot, sweaty, and simmering with a palpable sense of danger just like the 1967 Oscar^®-winner that spawned it, "In The Heat Of The Night" returned Brother Ray to one of the many genres he so excels in: the get-down gospel groove, ladled out slow, sexy, and tantalizing. Since he played an incalculable role in defining the entire soul genre with his groundbreaking 1950s waxings for Atlantic Records, it should come as no surprise that the Genius sounds so at ease here. "In The Heat Of The Night" is delightfully similar to Charles' wondrous Atlantic approach -- his gritty roar reigns over a sanctified, organ-cushioned sway (and dig that eye-opening excursion into falsetto at the end). It's only natural that the cut was a sizeable hit in its own right -- film themes seldom come soaked in this much down-home soul.

-- Bill Dahl

VOICE YOUR CHOICE: The Radiants

Radiating sweet and mellow Chicago soul vibes with its buoyant midtempo groove and brassy flourishes,"Voice Your Choice" rightfully translated into a major hit for The Radiants in 1965. Consisting of lead Maurice McAlister, Wallace Sampson, and Leonard Caston Jr. when this groove was cut, The Radiants had been on the Chess Records roster since 1962, but this utterly irresistible number was their paid-in-full ticket to the big time. Clearly the primary inspiration for The Radiants' high-flying vocal blend was Curtis Mayfield's Impressions. But these guys were no second-rate imitators. As the highly underrated Chess house band expertly navigates some rather complicated chord changes, McAlister and his youthful cohorts dart and dip with soul-steeped daring. Chicago's brand of '60s soul was every bit as distinctive as that of Motown or Stax; "Voice Your Choice" offers an infectious sampling of its breezy, harmonious charm.

-- Bill Dahl

YOU ARE THE CIRCUS: C & The Shells

You may think you've detoured out of '60s soul heaven and landed somewhere beneath the big top when the curtain opens on "You Are The Circus." The song's clever, lighthearted introduction suggests a chirping calliope in its trilling gaiety. Of course that's before things get heavy with the mighty Mr. Calvin White stepping up to front C & The Shells, a vocal trio formerly known as The Sandpebbles. The mastermind behind this 1969 R&B hit was prolific gadfly Jerry Williams Jr. -- better known under his anarchic alias, Swamp Dogg. And while White's melismatic cries underscore his gospel upbringing, it's Swamp Dogg's grasp of the groove that supplies the relentless drive.

-- Bill Dahl

T.C.B. OR T.Y.A.: Bobby Patterson

Bobby Patterson remains one of the true unsung heroes of Southern soul. One listen to "T.C.B. Or T.Y.A.," his 1969 hit for John Abnor's Dallas-based Jetstar Records, is testimony enough to the man's obvious talent in the vocal department -- his startling shrieks standing toe-to-toe with a scorching brass line and a pumping bottom. The versatile Texan also excelled as a songwriter and producer of exceptional, deep soul (his own offerings plus sides by Little Johnny Taylor, Ted Taylor, and Fontella Bass) and some highly imaginative answer records (a Joe Tex-taunting "I'm Leroy, I'll Take Her" and the Wilson Pickett retort "Broadway Ain't Funky No More"). Nevertheless, "T.C.B Or T.Y.A." -- slang for "Take Care of Business or Turn Yourself Around" -- remains one of his defining moments.

-- Bill Dahl

I DO: The Marvelows

Among soul aficionados Chicago Heights doesn't quite enjoy the same exalted status as its big-city neighbor to the immediate north. Nevertheless The Marvelows called the suburb home. Their heady mixture of polished soul and doo-wop harmonies possessed tremendous charm -- never more so than when layered generously upon the vocal group's impossibly infectious 1965 hit, "I Do." Produced and arranged by Johnny Pate (the gent behind The Marvelows' ABC-Paramount labelmates The Impressions), the record's jaunty, brass-powered drive and storming beat were topped off beautifully by Melvin Mason's muscular lead vocal. Most folks tend to associate "I Do" with the J. Geils Band, who revived it twice. But The Marvelows' superior original boasts a lighthearted, falsetto-enriched vitality that those covers only hint at.

-- Bill Dahl

39-21-46: The Showmen

Odd dimensions, but they were enough to inflame the libido of General Norman Johnson, the highly distinctive lead singer of The Showmen. Actually whoever copyrighted the song's title botched it severely: Johnson was waxing poetic about a woman blessed with a "39-21-40 shape" (one that drove him "apeity-ape"!). The General's weirdly compelling vocal gymnastics received a classy, flute-embellished treatment from New Orleans wunderkind Allen Toussaint, whose ivories rumble immaculately in the background.

Johnson and his Norfolk, Virginia, pals were known as The Humdingers before signing with the Crescent City's Minit Records, where they connected with the anthemic "It Will Stand." As the decade wound down, Johnson was hired to sing lead with Chairmen Of The Board, a quartet custom-built by Eddie and Brian Holland and Lamont Dozier. The Chairmen hit big with the Motown-flavored "Give Me Just A Little More Time" in 1970, Johnson's delivery retaining its unique tartness.

-- Bill Dahl

CAN I CHANGE MY MIND: Tyrone Davis

Certain grooves speak to me. Certain grooves lock me in. "Can I Change My Mind," Tyrone Davis' enduring anthem of equivocation, is a groove-and-a-half, a rhythmic feel that felt so good back in the feel-good days of the '60s, I wore out two copies of the single.

"Can I Change My Mind" played in the morning. "Can I Change My Mind" played at night. "Can I Change My Mind" incorporated one of those long, loping beats I could live by. It wore well. It saw me through the storms of life. It had a romantic resonance I could relate to.

The quixotic mix of masculine vulnerability and seductive funk was Tyrone's specialty, enabling him to go on and become one of the unsung heroes of '60s and '70s soul. A lifetime later, "Can I Change My Mind" still wins over my heart, retaining all the bittersweet appeal of romantic heartache and hope.

-- David Ritz

GRITS AIN'T GROCERIES (ALL AROUND THE WORLD): Little Milton

Some of my favorite lines ever written by anyone -- Shakespeare included -- are "If I don't love you, baby, grits ain't groceries, eggs ain't poultry, and Mona Lisa was a man." Talk about some funky poetry!

Titus Turner was the poet and Little Milton was the singer. When I first heard the song, I realized that the great tradition of witty blues lyrics, harking back to Fats Waller and Louis Jordan, was alive and well. I also remembered that one of the reasons I was so drawn to rhythm & blues, aside from its gut-wrenching emotions, was its humor.

Blues can be sad, but blues can also be funny. And "Grits Ain't Groceries" is one of the funniest, rockingest riffs ever recorded. Originally called "All Around The World" and recorded by Little Willie John, the song became a hit in the supple hands of Little Milton, whose Bobby "Blue" Bland/B.B. King cross-training made him the ideal interpreter of this ultraurban blues.

-- David Ritz

MEMPHIS SOUL STEW: King Curtis

"Memphis Soul Stew" made my mouth water. "Memphis Soul Stew" made me hungry enough to cry. I could smell the stuff simmering on the stove. I could the taste the spicy flavors. "Memphis Soul Stew" made me realize that the visceral pleasures of eating a solid meal and digesting a solid song were closely linked.

Soul music is a matter of mixing funky ingredients. In fact the funkiest music is said to be "cookin'." And "Memphis Soul Stew" is one of the cookingest dishes ever served up from the R&B kitchen.

I love the spoken intro as much as the melody. Love the way the recipe is broken down. Love the way the words fall right in with the rhythm. When it's time to clean carrots or peel potatoes, no song serves as well as "Memphis Soul Stew."

-- David Ritz

BACK UP TRAIN: Al Green & The Soul Mates

The sound of Al Green's voice singing "Back Up Train" gave me goose bumps. I loved the looseness of his delivery, the freedom with which he abandoned himself to the musical moment. "Back Up Train," his first hit, was the moment I discovered the joy of his irrepressible soul.

I was also intrigued by the subtext in Al's message. I listened to "Back Up Train" not just for the pleasure of its sound, but for what it said about time and loss and the mystery of retrospection. It's one of those songs that, over the years, deepened as I took a deeper inventory of my feelings.

Whatever Al sings is righteous and real. "Back Up Train" is early proof of his ethereal genius. He is a transcendental poet, a metaphysician of rare delicacy and distinction. In a little more than two minutes, "Back Up Train" sets the quintessential tone for all Al Green efforts to follow. The voice is light, the feelings heavy, the groove subtle, the harmonies an intoxicating blend of country-boy innocence and big-city temptation.

-- David Ritz

TELL MAMA: Etta James

What do you do when you love a song and the artist who recorded it doesn't even like it? You go on loving the song.

When I cowrote Etta James' autobiography (Rage To Survive), I told Etta I considered "Tell Mama" one of the great jams in the history of mankind. "I hate it," she said. "I know Clarence Carter wrote a helluva song, and the horn punches are cool, but I don't like being cast in the role of Earth Mother, the gal you come to for comfort and easy sex."

Sorry, Etta, but when I heard this jam back in the '60s, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. I was a graduate student in literature looking for poetry and truth, and "Tell Mama" was the truest thing I'd ever heard. The pocket was deep as the Grand Canyon. And Etta's voice roared with the thunderous passion I'd been studying in Greek mythology. I thought it then and I think it now: "Tell Mama" is R&B mythology at its meanest and mightiest.

-- David Ritz

MY WHOLE WORLD ENDED (THE MOMENT YOU LEFT ME): David Ruffin

Certain songs resonate like sensuous daydreams.

A graduate student roaming the ancient streets of Rome, my mind was a million miles from home when from a basement disco I heard a voice cry out, "Last week my life had meaning, it was beautiful and so sweet...." The sounds of David Ruffin's first solo smash hit me like a ton of bricks. My plans suddenly changed: I'd visit the Vatican tomorrow; today I'd run around the city, feverishly looking for a copy of "My Whole World Ended."

I still have that copy. I still have that moment in mind when I played it for the first time on my portable 45 changer. And played it. And played it until it became a permanent part of my sensory system.

Ruffin had left The Temptations only a year before "My Whole World" was released. And this single signaled the happy fact that his powerful voice, a musical personality we had come to cherish, was only growing stronger.

-- David Ritz

CAN I GET A WITNESS: Marvin Gaye

Back in the '60s, when friends called Motown watered-down, white-bread soul, I'd run to the hi-fi, throw on Marvin Gaye's holy rock 'n' roller "Can I Get A Witness," and watch the usual reaction -- instant conversion.

"Ain't nothing but straight-up church," was the way Marvin described the Holland-Dozier-Holland song to me. He should have known. He was raised in his father's Fundamentalist storefront church. And that churchy feeling -- that certain sense of spiritual salvation in sensuous music -- is the heart and soul of Marvin's compelling artistry.

Like Ray Charles before him, Gaye used the excitement of sacred rhythms to vent secular frustrations. But he did so with reservations; he dreamt of preaching and singing pure gospel. Yet the impurities were what made Marvin fascinating. And "Can I Get A Witness," with one foot in church and the other on the dance floor, lives on as a vital moment in American music, a rollicking metaphor for the righteous roots of rhythm & blues.

-- David Ritz

THE LOVE I SAW IN YOU WAS JUST A MIRAGE: Smokey Robinson & The Miracles

Forget Shakespeare and Shelley; I learned the lessons of poetry from Smokey Robinson, a singer-songwriter whose Miracles moved me like no one else.

Smokey was simple. And complex. And daring. His rhymes were baroque: "Sweetness was only heartache's camouflage/The love I saw in you was just a mirage...you lured me into something I should have dodged." He was clever and coy, yet unflinchingly sincere. He saw into the small hurts of young love with rare sensitivity. He sang like an angel and hurt like the devil.

"I never met a cliché I didn't like," he once said. But Smokey's genius was finding depth in shallowness. For Robinson, love -- genuine, unselfconscious love -- defeated the sappiness of sentimental language even as his language gathered strength from sentiments. In the exquisite "Mirage," he etched a subtle portrait of romantic illusion that, three decades later, still haunts my imagination. I like Keats; I like Yeats; I like Dylan Thomas. But when it comes to understanding heartache, Smokey's the man.

-- David Ritz

THE "IN" CROWD: Dobie Gray

Dobie Gray's "The 'In' Crowd" is one of the rare instances in which I love the record but hate the narrator. I have nothing at all against Dobie Gray himself, mind you, but the character he plays in the song is a complete doofus. Anyone who would sing lines like "If it's square we ain't there" or "When you're in with the 'in' crowd, it's easy to find romance," or worst of all "Other crowds imitate us, but the original's still the greatest" is obviously not "in" at all. In fact I'm guessing that this cat and his crowd are extreme loser types. They're trying too hard to be hip in ways they've learned from trendy TV shows or records. They don't have a clue as to how to go about actually being cool. When I hear the song I imagine them hitting on women in obnoxious ways only to be told in no uncertain terms to get lost, and ultimately ending the evening in some crummy coffee shop, assuring each other that those chicks weren't so cute anyway. Still, I'm glad these fellas have an anthem to call their own, and I'm moved to dance to "The 'In' Crowd" every time I hear it -- even when I'm in places that are square.

-- Steve Greenberg

LA-LA-MEANS I LOVE YOU: The Delfonics

With a falsetto lead so romantic, so clear, so sweet, "La-La-Means I Love You" is the essence of lovers' soul, the kind of song you want to sing to your girlfriend to convince her your love is true. Only thing is, the song should come with a warning label that reads "Don't try this at home." 'Cause the only human being in the world who can successfully sing that stratospheric melody -- aside from the guy in The Stylistics, of course -- is the guy from The Delfonics. And despite his proclamations to the contrary, don't think for one second that he doesn't know it. The only reason he places the "I don't even know if I can sing" lyric over that incredibly acrobatic melody line is because he wants the girl he's wooing to know that he's not taking anything for granted, except for the love he's feeling. Listen as he reduces his wondrous voice to a tool of begging. And so vulnerable is he that he won't even try to pretend he can find the right words; all he can come up with is "La la la la la la la la la," and even that means I love you. How can anyone not be rooting for her to love him back?

-- Steve Greenberg

BIG BIRD: Eddie Floyd

There's this place in New York City called the Empire State Soul Club, where the DJs spin obscure '60s soul gems for a jaded downtown crowd. Once a night they drop the needle on "Big Bird" by Stax great Eddie Floyd, and when they do, the semipacked dance floor fills to bursting, the crowd sweating and clapping to the thunderous rhythm. And when Eddie sings, "Open up the sky," all hands reach toward the heavens, all eyes focus above, everyone half-expecting it to start raining right there in the club.

A few years ago Eddie Floyd paid a surprise visit to the ESSC and announced that he would take the mike and sing along with one of his own records. He assumed everyone would want to hear him do his million-seller "Knock On Wood," but the crowd started shouting out, "Big Bird! Big Bird! Big Bird!" And suddenly it dawned on him: he had entered an alternate universe where this was his biggest hit.

-- Steve Greenberg

THE HORSE: Cliff Nobles & Co.

How do you put an instrumental into words? The only thing I can say about "The Horse" is that it features lots of groovy horns and a killer rhythm section by the Philly session players who would go on to become MFSB. More important is to try to describe the images this song can conjure up: a summer afternoon drive along the beach; sprinting toward the finish line in the 440 dash and breaking the tape just ahead of your opponent; teenagers doing The Horse -- whatever you suppose that might've looked like -- at a basement party; playground basketball. All of the above or none of the above...or maybe no concrete visual image at all -- just the euphoric sound of groovy horns and a killer rhythm section.

-- Steve Greenberg

TIGHTEN UP: Archie Bell & The Drells

"Tighten Up" is nearly a one-of-a-kind among dance-craze records. It's not about doing the dance, but rather about being the band playing the music that people are dancing to. Archie makes this clear in the song's opening line, when he introduces himself and the Drells, tells you where they're from (Houston, Texas), and brags about how well they can dance (as good as they walk). And he never actually instructs you how to do the Tighten Up -- he's busy urging the members of his band to "tighten up" on their particular instruments, which provokes blistering solos from the drums, bass, guitar, and organ before the horns come in and "make it mellow." No, on this record, the party's definitely not down on the dance floor -- it's up on the bandstand, where the Drells sound like they couldn't care less if there's anyone else in the house.

I mentioned earlier that this record is nearly a one-of-a-kind because Sly & The Family Stone turn the exact same trick in "Dance To The Music," which incidentally hit the charts the same month as "Tighten Up." Coincidence? Psychic phenomenon? You be the judge.

-- Steve Greenberg

TEASIN' YOU: Willie Tee

Music historians have often noted that Jamaican reggae resulted, in part, from Jamaican musicians picking up the distant signals of New Orleans radio stations and absorbing the rhythms of American R&B. The 1964 hit "Teasin' You," by Crescent City native Willie Tee, is as good an example as any of that connection: the rhythm track suggests waves gently splashing ashore, one after another, only to be pulled back to the sea by an irresistible undertow. Kind of like almost everything coming out of Kingston's Studio One five years later -- and that's meant as the highest compliment to Jamaica's session musicians. Music aside, special mention should also be made of Willie Tee's apparent skill at playing the dozens -- although the modern listener is left to guess at the meaning of odd put downs like "You're nothing but a Popcorn" and the enigmatic "They call you the Island Man/You think you're raising sand/They call you Doc/No more like you in stock." Wicked stuff in its day, I bet.

-- Steve Greenberg

DON'T MAKE ME OVER: Dionne Warwick

We are all familiar with Lesley Gore's protofeminist anthem "You Don't Own Me." At roughly the same time, Dionne Warwick recorded her own blistering manifesto. And where Lesley settles for politely instructing her boyfriend, "Please, when I go out with you, don't put me on display," Dionne absolutely screams, "Accept me for what I am!/Accept me for the things that I do!" And she screams it in a way that suggests she'll tear apart anyone who doesn't. But the scream is deceptive: Dionne's not demanding equality; she's begging her boyfriend for it. And she knows it's solely up to him just how much she'll get: "Don't make me over/Now that you've got me at your command/I'm begging you." It turns out urban chick Dionne is just as beholden to the will of her chauvinistic boyfriend as suburban queen Lesley. No surprise there: both songs were written by men.

-- Steve Greenberg

POURING WATER ON A DROWNING MAN: James Carr

To love someone so much that you'll allow them to treat you bad is one of the great tragedies that can befall a person. "Pouring Water On A Drowning Man" is James Carr's list of charges against his cruel lover, who kicks him when he's down, stabs him in his back every time he turns around and, of course, pours water on him as he drowns. All the while his horn section has got his back, sounding out a musical amen in response to each of his charges. But James isn't trying to show how bad his woman's mistreating him; he's indicting himself for giving into the situation. "I guess I missed my calling/'Cause I should have been a clown," he confides right at the song's beginning and admits, "You treat me like the fool that I am." He doesn't know how much longer he can take it, but he won't leave her. And as the song fades, all he can say is "Don't let me drown!" Spoken like a doomed man.

-- Steve Greenberg

THE CHOKIN' KIND: Joe Simon

"The Chokin' Kind" opens with a bass line that suggests treachery in the air. We are then introduced to our protagonist, a decent sort of fella who only meant to love his woman but found out the hard way that she was unworthy of his affections. She's treated him bad, and he's getting out. But he's not angry, and he doesn't tell her off before leaving. Rather he expresses his sincere hope that she'll find whatever it is that she's looking for in life and offers some helpful advice for the next time she falls in love: "If you don't like a peach/Walk on by the tree." Being disrespected in love, he sings, is worse than being killed "with a bottle of poison or a knife," and he has no interest in a slow, painful death. Ah, if only he could get this point across to James Carr in "Pouring Water On A Drowning Man."

-- Steve Greenberg

COWBOYS TO GIRLS: The Intruders

The Intruders' "Cowboys To Girls" is a dream of idyllic childhood, a fond reminiscence of preschool friendship culminating in teen romance. The lead singer's vocal pitch and tone are somehow not of this world, gliding gently alongside the angelic background ooohs. All the while, lush strings wash across the musical landscape, softening the edges, leaving the scene covered in a beatific glow. Sweetness, innocence, nostalgia -- take me back to the girl next door.

-- Steve Greenberg

THE MONKEY TIME: Major Lance

One day when I was in junior high, we had a substitute teacher in music appreciation class named Mr. Shotenfeld. We thought he was a dweeb because he drew a picture on the blackboard of a dead man lying on the ground and said, "You can remember my name by thinking that someone shot me and I fell." The mandatory disrespect that all classes feel for substitute teachers was rising to new heights by the second. Spitballs and mayhem were imminent.

Suddenly Mr. Shotenfeld pulled out an acoustic guitar and announced that he was going to play a song written by Curtis Mayfield. We all thought he was going to play "Superfly," and we were incredulous, to say the least. Instead he began slowly strumming the chords to "The Monkey Time" and singing its melody. It was beautiful, mournful, and instilled a calm in the room that no one would have thought possible. Years later I heard Major Lance's recording of the song. It's an upbeat dance-craze record with a falsetto vocal performance by Major Lance that is nearly the equal of anything Curtis Mayfield ever sang. It's a wonderful record.

-- Steve Greenberg

THE MEMPHIS TRAIN: Rufus Thomas

With production values that are positively Spectorian by Stax standards, "The Memphis Train" is more about the last train out of Dodge than the next one to Memphis. Just months away from their parting with Atlantic Records, the folks at East McLemore Avenue fired off this final, awesome blast. In contrast to Rufus' jubilant vocals, Steve Cropper's locomotive guitar is played so tough you can almost feel that he's pissed off about something (maybe someone finally read their contract). This ultimate Memphis ripper is one of the last to feature the key crew of players and elements that made up the '60s Stax sound.

-- Bill Inglot

NOTHING BUT A HEARTACHE: The Flirtations

Simply put, "Nothing But A Heartache" is the best (and maybe only) Motown, British Beat, and Fifth Dimension pastiche ever. This 1969 shotgun marriage of styles is the true missing link between Detroit and the Invictus/Hot Wax sound of then-former Motown staffers Holland-Dozier-Holland. Interestingly, none of that hit-making team was actually involved. Rather, it was the work of Brits Wayne Bickerton and Tony Waddington, who roped in three Southern women to cut the high-octane vocals. How they made the trip to England -- and how the record made it over here -- is anyone's guess. Nevertheless, the awesome results are no mystery.

-- Bill Inglot

IT TEARS ME UP: Percy Sledge

A dagger twist from an ex-lover reaping her unnecessary revenge. Couldn't she have picked someone you didn't know? "It Tears Me Up" flips "When A Man Loves A Woman's" jubilant if mournful celebration of the healing power of love on its head, going off instead on its power to hurt. If any happy songs were floating around the Muscle Shoals Studios no one bothered to show them to Percy Sledge. Which is no great loss since no one ever made sadness sound so good.

-- Bill Inglot

7-ROOMS OF GLOOM: Four Tops

Now that the Motown legacy is used to sell everything from movies to pet food, it is too easy to overlook gems like "7-Rooms Of Gloom." They seem to get lost amid the "My Girls" and "Baby Loves." While "7-Rooms" was a defining refinement of Holland-Dozier-Holland's sound, it also proved to be the team's Motor City swan song, when the hits turned to writs. Motown wouldn't really recover from their departure until the '70s. Tellingly, the backing from the Funk Brothers sounds like check-out time is near, and Levi Stubbs' vocal is charged with the emotion of a man who knows his next hit won't be coming for a long time.

-- Bill Inglot

EIGHT MEN, FOUR WOMEN: O.V. Wright

A song not about ratios but rather the "jury of love." Wright's roots were deep in the gospel and apparently too deep for a stronger showing on the pop chart. Nevertheless "Eight Men, Four Women" transcends that meaningless numerical exercise. The eerie, dreamlike backing only intensifies Wright's longing for a hung jury.

Life cut short Wright's reach, but not his grasp. Although his later days took him further from the church -- but never too far from the judicial system -- he always sang to a higher authority.

-- Bill Inglot

EVERYDAY WILL BE LIKE A HOLIDAY: William Bell

Perhaps the best Christmas song that isn't really about Christmas at all. With sleigh bells setting the scene, "Everyday Will Be Like A Holiday" equates the anticipation of an absent lover's arrival with a child's impatience while waiting for Santa Claus. All in all, a sad song about how someone might soon be happy, which is not surprising considering that Bell's Stax catalog is seemingly pervaded by an obsession with loss, parting and, yes, even the occasional reunion.

-- Bill Inglot

I'M BLUE (THE GONG-GONG SONG): The Ikettes

Wait a minute! Dig the hook in this song: "gong gong gong gong g-g-gong gong gong, yeah." Now if that's not enough, songwriter Ike Turner rhymes blue with doobie-doobie-doo, a little nonsense lyric that Frank Sinatra incorporated into "Strangers In The Night."

As for The Ikettes, they were the sexy trio that provided backup vocals for the Ike And Tina Turner Revue. Delores Johnson, who's singing lead, sounds anything but blue -- the mood's more a slow burn as the track simmers and smolders -- meantime Jo Armstead and Eloise Hester groove and grind their way in perfect unison through the gongs and doobie-doos.

Exactly what guitar-slinger Ike had in mind with the "gong gong" non sequitur is anybody's guess. Nonetheless it caught our attention in January of '62 and sounded pretty cool blasting from a car radio on a Saturday night.

-- James Austin

WRONG NUMBER (I AM SORRY, GOODBYE): Aaron Neville

I'll bet that Alexander Graham Bell never dreamed just how many lovesick fools would be spending countless hours waiting for his invention to ring. Now, Mr. Peabody, let's set the way back machine to the year 1961. Aaron Neville's got too much pride to reach out and touch that certain someone. So he's holding his breath, his heart skipping a beat, waiting for his baby to call. Too bad all he gets is someone on the other end sayin', "Wrong number." The good news is his song evokes the classic style of early '60s soul that borrowed from a '50s pop tradition. Brother Aaron croons this ballad in a style that's reminiscent of the late, great Sam Cooke. You know, the gentle, yearning approach that would later earn Aaron tremendous crossover appeal with songs like "Let's Live" and "Tell It Like It Is." The minimal accompaniment on this Parlo single (like most of his Parlo singles) is understated -- nothing more than a stripped-down, bare-bones ensemble. Rich yet delicate, Aaron's voice has aged well -- years of marinating those vocal cords in spicy "Nawlins" cooking hasn't taken the edge off his angelic tenor.

-- James Austin

THE CHEATER: Bob Kuban & The In-Men

In the graveyard of one-hit wonders lie the rockin' bones of one Bob Kuban. This ex-high school teacher from St. Louis once ripped away on the skins through a simple yet clever morality play called "The Cheater." The cut also featured a little-known singer by the name of Walter Scott, whose muy macho vocal style perfectly complemented the fabulous In-Men's in-yer-face horn arrangement. No doubt about it: in the Land of 1,000 Dances, this one begged for a Boogaloo. Too bad for Scott that life has a way of imitating art: his wife had been cheating on him for years. Worse yet, she and her boyfriend were arrested and charged with murder when Scott's body was found floating in a cistern -- bullet-ridden and three years dead.

-- James Austin

A FOOL IN LOVE: Ike & Tina Turner

They musta made the grooves an inch deep on this track. The Nutbush vixen launches into this one with a vengeance; more than one take and she would be gargling with Listerine. Fools may fall in love, but they sure don't sing like this!

-- James Austin

TWINE TIME: Alvin Cash & The Crawlers

It's twine time -- oh ah oh ah oh ah. How could any self-respecting soul survivor from the '60s even think of changing the station when this Crawler-cum-Booker T. band combines that cheesy Hammond B-3 sound with a gritty sax section, punctuated by Alvin's "It's twine, baby -- you're lookin' good"?

No party animals were injured during the making of this track. Have mercy, baby. Ooooooh-weeee!

-- James Austin

SHAKE A TAIL FEATHER: The Five Du-Tones

If there ever was such a thing as garage soul, this is it! From the very first series of rim shots punctuating the opening bars, you know you're in for a soul-frat blast. The Five Du-Tones turn this platter of wax into a strip joint rave-up complete with hollers, catcalls, and rollicking shrieks. You can almost see them down on their knees, pleading for The Twist, The Freeze, The Swim. This definitely ain't what Arthur Murray had in mind.

-- James Austin

CRY BABY: Garnet Mimms And The Enchanters

Just imagine this track spinning on AM radio in 1963 amid a sea of pop songs like "Pipeline," "Surfin' USA," and "Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh." Suffice to say, on the Boss 40 playlist, it literally drowned out anything that came on before or after it. Yeah, Garnet Mimms knew how to belt out pure, raw emotion. This one really gotcha, right down to that part of your soul reserved for James Brown, Ray Charles, and Baby Washington.

-- James Austin

LOVE MAKES A WOMAN: Barbara Acklin

With its tinkling piano intro and zesty, lusty feel, "Love Makes A Woman" was one of those good-mood-making tunes. The lyrics were almost of secondary importance, because the beat kept your feet moving and fingers snapping. But try as you might you couldn't escape the infectious hook line and Ms. Barbara Acklin's message: money, she agreed, was nice and, yes, it didn't hurt to have a man with some cash in hand to wine and dine ya, but love, she insisted, was the real key to happiness.

It came as no surprise that in the summer of '68 record buyers -- women in particular -- responded to the song's underlying theme. And down through the years, artists ranging from Phoebe Snow to Everything But The Girl have echoed the same sentiment. But in true Windy City fashion Ms. Acklin's original "Love Makes A Woman" still bounces along -- a sweet slice of Chicago soul at its very best.

-- David Nathan

RESCUE ME: Fontella Bass

With Maurice White (he of Earth, Wind & Fire fame) and the Chess Records house band backing her, gospel-trained Fontella Bass wailed her way through "Rescue Me," summoning help like a true soul girl in funky distress. And who could resist as the St. Louis miss told her tale of being lonely and blue? You could feel the ache of unkissed lips as she asked -- nay, begged -- for some relief. And by the end of her close-to-three-minutes of impassioned pleas Fontella had shifted gears and was damn near purring for some attention as she sexily hummed her way out of the song, which became one of 1965's biggest international hits.

-- David Nathan

OH NO NOT MY BABY: Maxine Brown

She didn't believe what she'd heard -- and why should she? Sure, she knew about no-good men, but she also knew when she'd found a prize, and she wasn't too thrilled that some of her gossipy neighbors were quick to dig up dirt on her newfound love. Even worse, her own mama was bad-mouthing him, and it took a whole lotta faith to tell Mama that this man was different. Sure, he was human, and he mighta had a last-minute fling, but, hey, a man's gonna do what a man's gonna do. And at the end of the day, he gave you the one thing that told you he was not like the rest: a sparkling 14-karat diamond ring. When Maxine Brown laid down her vocals against a lush, lilting arrangement, she may not have known the real man who Carole King and then-husband Gerry Goffin were writing about, but she knew enough about love and life to make "Oh No Not My Baby" sound like one of the most convincing lyrical statements of mid-'60s pop-flavored soul.

--David Nathan

DRY YOUR EYES: Brenda & The Tabulations

Philly passion at its best, "Dry Your Eyes" was one of those records that stopped you dead in your tracks. You just couldn't listen to the ballad's poignant beauty without being moved by its soulfulness, its straight-to-the-heart emotion. Mama was coming to the rescue and with a plaintive declaration, soothing the pain of a love-hurt heart. As the song dreamily seduced its way onto the nation's airwaves in the winter of '67, tissue-makers could have gone out of business 'cause Brenda was offering something far better: a love you could count on with all the trimmings -- and you knew it was for real.

-- David Nathan

I HAD A TALK WITH MY MAN: Mitty Collier

It took nerve to transform a popular gospel tune into a soulful anthem, but if anyone could pull it off it was Alabama-born Mitty Collier. With her deep-as-the-River Jordan and mighty-as-Mount Zion vocal majesty, Mitty took the original song -- an ode to a man's private discourse with his god -- and made it over into a declaration of love and commitment. Working with a sparse horn-and-string arrangement that had become the trademark of so many records coming out of Chicago's Chess Studios, Mitty embraced the spirit of the song and delivered it on wax with moving honesty. And while hard-core gospel lovers may have scorned the song's spiritual-to-secular lyrical switch, Mitty won more than a few kudos for her soul-deep confessional.

-- David Nathan

STAY WITH ME: Lorraine Ellison

I can still remember the first time I heard Lorraine Ellison's brokenhearted single "Stay With Me." I was all of 18 years old and staying at the home of one of Britain's pioneering R&B music lovers in a Kentish suburb just outside London. When my friend put the freshly received Warner Bros. single on his record player, I was still lounging in bed. By the time Lorraine got to the first chorus I had leaped up as if World War III had been declared and dashed into the next room. "Who on earth is that?" I asked. We were both in momentary disbelief that anyone could put such unbridled hysteria on disc. I had heard of Lorraine and even had a couple of her Mercury singles. But they sounded nothing like this!

Those who were there when she laid her soul bare at the 1966 recording session say the walls shook. They say the tape almost broke. They say that the 40-odd, mostly white, string players almost dropped their instruments as she began to wail. Everyone on hand, from producer Jerry Ragavoy to engineer Phil Ramone, knew that they were in the presence of unbridled talent, that they were witnessing what would come to be considered the ultimate in orgasmic soul.

-- David Nathan

YOU'RE NO GOOD: Betty Everett

Ever since female vocalists began putting their feelings on wax, they've talked about the shortcomings of menfolk. Bessie Smith, Ma Rainey, Big Maybelle, Billie Holiday, and countless others made a living out of singing about guys who were out-and-out dogs. While Mississippi miss Betty Everett was no blues or jazz queen, she didn't mince words with her sorry tale of a woman who finally sees the light and realizes that her guy is not worth the time and effort she is investing in their one-sided relationship. With its sweet, sweet Chicago soul feel, Betty sang the now-classic "You're No Good" with suitable menace, making it plain through her pointed lyrical approach that she was dismissing the cheatin' lowlife who had been messin' with her heart and moving on to a new lover-man who would treat her right.

-- David Nathan

PIECE OF MY HEART: Erma Franklin

Aretha's kid sister Erma always had a big voice. Sho' 'nuff deeper in tone than her older sibling's and most certainly as passionate. And while Sister 'Ree found fame and fortune on a greater level, Erma knew how to blow. And blow she did on her original, stone-to-the-bone reading of "Piece Of My Heart," a masterpiece of gritty emotion. My first recollection of the song was as an import that came into the record store I coowned in the heart of London's West End, a store devoted exclusively to the sale of black American music. It was one of those records that stopped people in their tracks. I would play it in the store over and over again, because it was just one of the most soulful performances I'd heard in a long time. And on every occasion we would rack up a sale. And for good reason: Working with legendary producer Bert Berns for his Shout label, Erma sang the mess out of the song, wailing with world-weary conviction, alternating between brazen disdain and doubt-ridden bravery as she laid down the definitive version of a tune later given raucous glory by the late Janis Joplin.

-- David Nathan

EVERY LITTLE BIT HURTS: Brenda Holloway

Today, using modern psycho-social terms, you'd say the lyrics to "Every Little Bit Hurts" echo the sentiments of a dysfunctional victim. Think about it: why would you cry every night because you ain't being treated right by some jerk who's clearly incapable of emotional intimacy? "Come back to me," Brenda entreats with such earnest abandon that you figure the guy must be so great in the sack that she'll forgive him anything. Clearly he's a dog -- he deserts her at every opportunity. So why, if truly every little bit hurts, does she hang in there? Well, the real answer to that would take hundreds of hours of therapy to uncover, and as someone who's been there and done that (both attached myself to someone who was incapable of giving me the love I truly deserved and spent hundreds of hours in therapy trying to figure out why), I can testify that as long as human beings have had the capacity to love, they've had the capacity for pain.

Surely one of the ultimate in crazy-love soul ballads, "Every Little Bit Hurts" gave the sultry-voiced Ms. Holloway her first taste of fame. And unlike so many other songs of the period, its sentiments remain as valid for folks currently caught up in one-sided love affairs as they were when Brenda first sang them. As Martha Reeves once sang, love makes you do foolish things...even when you're old enough to know better.

-- David Nathan

TEMPTATION 'BOUT TO GET ME: The Knight Bros.

Just when you think you're over your love jones, you get that phone call. Suddenly you're right back in it all over again, hooked like you never been hooked before. Soul brothers supreme, The Knight Brothers laid it out and told the story. You knew from their heartrendin' harmonies that these guys weren't frontin'. A tortuously dramatic ballad in the finest tradition of majestic Chicago R&B, "Temptation 'Bout To Get Me" is a one-of-a-kind record, and as good as they were, The Knight Brothers could never hope to repeat its impact.

-- David Nathan

FRIENDSHIP TRAIN: Gladys Knight & The Pips

Touched by the Motown machine but originals to the core, Gladys and her Pips could lay down a vocal groove in a hot flash. The legendary group knew how to turn a ballad inside out and were right on time in their quest for peace, love, and understanding on the "Friendship Train," a whistle-blowin' slab of soulful psychedelia. The Pips gave us their trademark "oop-oop" backups behind Gladys' demerara-and-pepper-toned lead vocals, and the result was a fiery dance jam. It's hardly surprising that some genius exec (no doubt Berry Gordy himself) placed the group on the Soul label when they signed with Motown in 1966, three years before "Friendship Train" made its journey up the nation's charts.

-- David Nathan

YOU'VE BEEN IN LOVE TOO LONG: Martha & The Vandellas

When it came to '60s female vocal groups, Motown offered a whole range of choices -- from The Supremes to The Velvelettes. But if you were looking for a soulful approach to the latest creative confection from the Hitsville music machine, you got Ms. Martha Reeves and her Vandellas into the studio, and you let them have at it. Sounding out a lyrical S.O.S. and warning about the danger of love addiction, Ms. Martha and her girls were in fine form, chirping about a good girlfriend who was clearly losing her grip on account of the man in her life. A 1965 ditty that started life as the flip side to "Love (Makes Me Do Foolish Things)," "You've Been In Love Too Long" was never considered one of the group's biggest records, but to aficionados of Martha's tart yet tender vocal style, the record is a masterful gem.

-- David Nathan

YES, I'M READY: Barbara Mason

With her sweet, sexy tones, Barbara Mason played the role of the quintessential teen virgin in this the ultimate end-of-the-innocence musical plea. Now, the truth is the Philly filly was a mere 18 years old when she recorded the tune, so we can speculate that it may have been based on some true-life experience. No one had the temerity to ask Ms. Mason whether she wrote the song because she had indeed asked her teen beau to show her the wonders of romance, but we do know that her coy cry for assistance in discovering the joys of the flesh touched a universal nerve. Echoing the sentiments of young girls (and likely a few young guys) everywhere, Barbara seduced listeners with her vocal caress and, we can imagine, had her wish fulfilled when some fortunate young man accepted her request.

-- David Nathan

RELEASE ME: Esther Phillips ("Little Esther")

A blues girl from the git go, Esther Phillips (her last name lifted from a Texas gas station) could take any lyric and turn it into a soulful ode with the heart-wrenching emotion associated with bittersweet songbirds Dinah Washington and Billie Holiday. Such was the case with the country evergreen "Release Me." In Esther's hands the song became more a demand than a plea: love, a topic Esther knew well from living a tough young life, was gone -- over, history, kaput. She wasn't just asking for her freedom; she was declaring her liberty. Against a typical Nashville backdrop of strings and chorus, the teen star-turned-R&B hitmaker turned out one of the best performances of her life, giving her career a much-needed jump start in the process.

-- David Nathan

SELFISH ONE: Jackie Ross

Oh, how could you resist Jackie Ross, with her purring, kittenlike vocals as she cried out for help in dealing with a man who was clearly not only a dog, but also a damn fool?! The St. Louis-born chanteuse wasn't merely a fine vocalist; she was all-the-way fine -- a looker with charm and appeal. One glance at Jackie and one listen to her big hit, the catchy, finger-snapper "Selfish One," was enough to make you wonder what the guy could have been thinking to let such a sweet sister slip through his fingers. Yet another great recording from Chicago's Chess Studios, "Selfish One" was sparse but effective, with one of those soulful string arrangements, which perfectly complemented Ms. Jackie's sultry tones.

-- David Nathan

I CAN'T STAND IT: Soul Sisters

Gospel girls with girth, the Soul Sisters threw down on their biggest hit, the thumpin', pedal-to-the-metal wailer "I Can't Stand It." Simply put, the song had the kind of fervor that made you wanna slap someone! Start to finish, Thresia and Ann let loose with nonstop, holy-roller intensity, and while the song didn't exactly burn up the airwaves when released in 1964, it remains a soulful stomper unrivaled for its guts 'n' garters groove.

When the Sisters came to England in 1965 to promote the record, it was indeed a memorable occasion. I can recall seeing them at a hole-in-the-wall dive, their ample frames bopping back and forth as they literally bounced from one end of the tiny stage to the other, turning "I Can't Stand It" into a real live experience.

-- David Nathan

SWEET INSPIRATION: The Sweet Inspirations

When God was handing out heavenly voices, Cissy Houston, Sylvia Shemwell, Estelle Brown, and Myrna Smith -- otherwise known as The Sweet Inspirations -- were undoubtedly among the chosen few. Providing soulful backup for everyone from Aretha to Elvis, they could deliver the most emotive vocals this side of the Pearly Gates. But when they stepped up front, look out! "Sweet Inspiration," an infectious confection, simultaneously showcased their angelic harmonies and their prowess as alternating lead singers. With their roof-raisin', storefront-church sound, the Sweets made other girl groups -- and a few well-known soul divas -- cower in awe.

-- David Nathan

WISH SOMEONE WOULD CARE: Irma Thomas

They didn't call Irma Thomas the Soul Queen of New Orleans for nothing. Her bittersweet ballad "Wish Someone Would Care" conveyed with pathos and beauty the loneliness, the lovelessness, that pervades so many lives. With her blues-tinged vocal style, Irma sang the song with the feeling of one who had loved and lost. "Wish Someone Would Care" was a cry for help, but it offered comfort to those the world over who longed for the warmth of another's touch when the sun went down and, the business of the day over, they were left alone.

-- David Nathan

JUST ONE LOOK: Doris Troy

The venue was a little basement apartment on Broadway in New York City. The young daughter of a Bronx Baptist minister was messin' around with some lyrics. Nothing too complicated or fancy -- just a few words about an everyday occurrence: eyes meet, smiles are exchanged. Who knows where it can lead? With its universal message, "Just One Look" was a sassy finger-snapper with a loping backbeat that not only launched the career of the great Doris Troy -- a career that continues to this day -- but became a contemporary pop and soul anthem. Legend has it that the recording that has had folks singing along at karaoke venues from Tijuana to Tokyo was originally a three-track demo. But who cares? Fact is, La Troy imbued the simple, self-penned ditty with coy sweetness and from-the-heart tenderness.

-- David Nathan

I DO LOVE YOU: Billy Stewart

The door opens on a dark room pulsating with a sexy 6/8 groove, over which we hear a self-assuring declaration: "I do love you, but it's all right." Once we feel at ease, the lights come on and a hulking figure of a man -- no, make that Fat Boy, a name Billy Stewart thought was all right -- has instantly switched the band's gears into a lush, loping 4/4 rhythmic bed. After leading the chorus through a couple refrains, he happily jumps on board, improvising swooping melodies and popping rhythms with his unique jazz-tinged, word-doubling vocal style. Within moments his voice fades back into the darkness, and we've come to the inevitable realization that the song has no equal -- well, with the possible exception of Billy's follow-up hit, "Sitting In The Park," recorded, remarkably, on the same day in December 1964 (both with future Earth, Wind & Fire founder Maurice White on drums).

Billy's early career found him crossing paths with the likes of Marvin Gaye, both as teenagers in Washington, D.C., and later Bo Diddley, for whom he played piano beginning in 1956. But even in the presence of such influential stylists as these, he developed his own incomparable approach. Sadly, Stewart's voice was silenced at the age of 32 by a tragic auto accident. Fortunately you can hit the repeat button on your CD player and hear this song again and again and again....

-- Patrick Milligan

OUT OF SIGHT: James Brown And His Orchestra

According to conventional wisdom, the Godfather didn't spring his Brand New Bag o' funk on an unsuspecting world until a year after this record's release with his back-to-back #1 R&B hits, "Papa's Got A..." and "I Got You (I Feel Good)." Maybe it got lost in the tidal wave that was called Beatlemania during the summer of '64, but there was a creative riot goin' on in James Brown's recording studio. One listen to "Out Of Sight," and you've got the blueprint for funk right there--the slinky bass line, the jazzy, stop-on-a dime horn riffs, and the syncopated rhythm. For anyone who has seen it, it is impossible to listen to this record without mentally envisioning the black-and-white film image of Mr. Dynamite camel walkin', boogalooin', splittin', spinnin', and one-leg shimmyin' across the stage at the notorious 1964 T.A.M.I. (Teenage Awards Music International) Show -- a true semireligious experience. And, for my money, any party that can't be jump-started with "Out Of Sight" is dead in the water.

-- Reggie Collins

FIRST I LOOK AT THE PURSE: The Contours

The grit-and-grease of The Contours stood in marked contrast to the ready-for-prime-time sheen of other, more urbane Motown acts. Of course, their biggest claim to fame is the Berry Gordy-penned, frat-party raver "Do You Love Me," but my vote goes to "First I Look At The Purse" as being the group's best recorded moment. The song takes on the world view of a gigolo who eschews women's physical attributes in favor of the size of their financial portfolios -- a sort of "Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend" or "Material Girl" in reverse. It's hard to believe that the lyrics were written by no less than Smokey Robinson, the premier composer of romantic soul ballads. 'Course, that silky, delicate falsetto of his wouldn't have sounded at all believable singing, "I don't care if she wobbles like a duck...[as long as] the dollar bills are crisp." (This from the same guy who wrote "My Girl," "The Tracks Of My Tears," and "Oooh Baby Baby"??) Only Robinson's characteristically clever wordplay gives any hint as to the identity of its author. (Who else could have come up with a line like, "Why waste time lookin' at the waist line?") The record, with its raw, slightly off-key-for-comical-effect vocals and driving instrumental backup, rocks and rocks hard. No wonder Boston's rhythm-and-booze outfit, the J. Geils Band, decided to give it a whirl on their debut album several years later. But something tells me that even Peter Wolf, the group's lead singer, would have to agree upon which version is king.

-- Reggie Collins

(SWEET SWEET BABY) SINCE YOU'VE BEEN GONE: Aretha Franklin

Hitting the charts during the spring of 1968, when the greatest female soul singer of all time could do no wrong, "(Sweet Sweet Baby) Since You've Been Gone" was Aretha Franklin's fifth #1 R&B single in only a year's time -- and deservedly so. The record is the sonic equivalent to a locomotive, or the jarring brightness of the midday sun invading a dark room after the shades have been pulled up. Powered along by some of Muscle Shoals' top session musicians (with a little help from no less than Bobby Womack on guitar, King Curtis on sax and, of course, her own brilliant piano playing), Franklin belts out the lyrics as if her golden vocal cords were on fire. For once, it is the woman who is pleading with her man to come back after a misunderstanding, and she ain't too proud to beg. Suffice to say, when the chorus climaxes with her volcanic delivery of the line, "I've just been so bleeeuuuwwww...," Aretha leaves the listener feeling anything but. And after that, the man to whom she's singing has to come a-runnin' home. After all, what other choice is there when the Queen beckons?

-- Reggie Collins

WHO'S LOVING YOU: The Jackson 5

It may be difficult to remember after the more recent haze of hype, weirdness, and scandal, but back in the day, the Jacksons were all about music. And some damn fine music at that. Of course -- by way of Berry Gordy's Hitsville U.S.A. -- they came into our collective consciousness in all of their Afro-and-bell-bottoms glory with that unforgettable piano glissando that announces the beginning of their classic 1969 debut single, "I Want You Back." However, one flip of the disc would reveal a killer, decidedly un-Motownish sounding B-side. Yes, it was "Who's Loving You," an old Smokey Robinson tune, but rearranged into a blues so soulful, so funky, and so adult that to put it in the hands of any other child singer you can name would have been laughable. The electric keyboard intro is straight outta the School of Ray Charles, and the then-pint-sized Michael Jackson immediately seizes your attention with an assured, melismatic, world-weary vocal prowess that would have been astounding from a performer three times his age -- and is barely hinted at in the bubblegum-soul hits that were to follow. The record climaxes towards its conclusion when Michael delivers a show-stopping a cappella, "...Whooooo's...lu-u-uvvvvv...ing yooo-ah-whooa-whooa-eeeewww," at which point he's rejoined by Motown's Funk Brothers on the instrumental backing and his blood brothers on the backup vocals. Simply put, the boy could saaaang. Hey, if Those Who Decide What Is Hip are willing to allow Elvis to keep his crown in the face of all of those embarrassing '60s celluloid abominations and '70s Vegas jumpsuited kitsch, then props can be accorded to his future, and now former, son-in-law. When he delivers the goods, ya gotta like Mike, despite himself.

-- Reggie Collins

FUNCTION AT THE JUNCTION: Shorty Long

Shorty Long may be better known as the one-hit wonder who had the 1968 smash "Here Comes The Judge," and not at all well known as the guy who recorded the original version of the future Mitch Ryder classic "Devil With A Blue Dress." But his aesthetic moment in the sun would have ta be 1966's "Function At The Junction," the soul equivalent to Willie Dixon's house-party blues staple "Wang Dang Doodle." Motown's criminally unheralded session players are the real stars on this one, providing an unusually (even for them) propulsive, on-fire, rug-cutting groove. And who would wanna miss out on a gathering of such colorful characters as "Long Tall Sally from Carolina," "Mohair Sam from Alabam'," and "007 the private eye," who is "bringing all the guys from I Spy"? You can almost smell the ribs, fried chicken, greens, potato salad, and beer, mixed in with the scent of sweat-drenched, horny "hip cats in fancy hats" and perfume-laced, "hip-shakin'...devastatin' beauties" on a hot summer night. "Come one, come all, we're gonna have a ball...." Indeed.

-- Reggie Collins

WHEN SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH MY BABY: Sam & Dave

The "double dynamite" duo of Sam Moore and Dave Prater were capable of much more than the strut-and-swagger that characterized their signature hits "Soul Man" and "Hold On! I'm A Comin'." Exhibit A: the Isaac Hayes/David Porter-penned ballad "When Something Is Wrong With My Baby," a timeless record of epic proportions. From the opening strums of Steve Cropper's guitar, we are inextricably drawn into a textbook example of how a man can sound sensitive, tender, and vulnerable without coming off as a wimp. Not with singing voices like those. Dave delivers a breathtakingly sweet reading of the lyric on the first verse, and is joined by Sam for the goose bump-inducing, two-part harmony chorus that could melt butter. But it ain't over yet -- not until Sam has had a chance to grab the mike for a fiery vocal turn on verse two that, shall we say, raises the rafters. ("...And if she's got a problem/Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh, I know, I know I've gotta help her solve 'em." Whew!) His ad-libbed "Sho' 'nuff!" towards the song's conclusion is worth the price of admission alone. Add equally impressive instrumental backing from Booker T. & The M.G.'s and the Memphis Horns to the mix, and this already-delicious soul stew is pipin' hot and ready to serve. By the way, if your Significant Other doesn't respond to this as an ice-breaker after an argument, it's time to (stealing a line from Ray Charles) "hit the road, Jack."

-- Reggie Collins

(I KNOW) I'M LOSING YOU: The Temptations

"(I Know) I'm Losing You," a peak among many peaks in the Tempts' formidable, hit-laden output, is a showcase for then-lead singer David Ruffin all the way, with knock-yer-socks-off support from the dependably fine Motown house band. The song is about the impending doom, despair, desperation, and paranoia a guy feels when his girlfriend/wife is about to be stolen right out from under his nose, and he knows it. Check out the tension in Ruffin's incomparable sandpaper-rasp-of-a-voice as he sings the brooding, confrontational lyrics, punctuated by some lean, mean rhythm guitar licks, slippery but rock-solid-as-all-get-out bass (supplied by the mighty James Jamerson), rattlesnakelike tambourine, and devilishly funky percussion. The falsetto-pitched Eddie Kendricks-led backing vocals -- "Looosin' yoooo!" -- immediately following the chorus blow whatever macho-cool Ruffin is still able to outwardly muster. By the end of the climactic, horn-dominated break, he is so certain of his inevitable fate that you can almost visualize his woman literally having one foot out the door and hear the rumble of the engine emanating from the Other Man's waiting car. But that doesn't stop Ruffin from delivering one of the most blistering male vocal performances on any soul record anywhere during the fade-out. Any other artist who dares to tackle this song (including, with all due respect, Every Picture Tells A Story-era Rod Stewart) oughta step off. Ninety-nine percent of 'em ain't fit to hold The Temptations' matching, spit-polished, patent-leather shoes.

-- Reggie Collins

SHOW ME: Joe Tex

There is no other soul singer who made more of a career out of offering unsolicited advice concerning the dynamics of male/female relationships than Joe Tex. Nowhere is this epitomized better than "Show Me," a future bar-band staple. Marriage counseling? Phone-in talk-radio shows? Bah! Whip out this slice o' wax -- it's all you need. Admittedly, Tex's lyrics were always notoriously chauvinistic: The man who's "got a good woman" in this instance is the one who "knows he's got some sweet love comin' at the end of his workin' day"; the woman who's "got a good man...[does] all she can to make life worth livin' for [him] so his troubles don't cross his mind." (Hey, what does the bum do for her, other than bring home that measly-excuse-for-a-paycheck, his appetite, and ploppin' his big butt down in front of the tube? Shhhooot....) But Joe makes it all go down easy with good-natured humor, Southern charm, and that unique, streetwise voice of his. Plus, unlike most other pro-relationship discourse, it's got a good beat and you can dance to it.

-- Reggie Collins

HE WAS REALLY SAYIN' SOMETHIN': The Velvelettes

When your label roster includes The Supremes, Martha & The Vandellas, and The Marvelettes, it's easy to see how the far-lesser-known Velvelettes could get lost in the shuffle. But the first-rate V.I.P./Motown single "He Was Really Sayin' Somethin'" should have been a much bigger hit, as it was a killer effort right from the first moments of the intro. Propelled by Hitsville's untouchable house band, the record kicks off with a funky, percussive piano attack, immediately joined by James Jamerson's bass, Benny Benjamin's drums, kick-ass horns, and a jump-out-of-the-mix tambourine. The lead singer plays the role of a girl who is "walkin' down the street," and being actively pursued by a "collar unbuttoned...[and] struttin'" guy who is obviously full of jive. She claims to know better -- at least in the presence of her girlfriends (the backup singers) to whom she's laying all this on -- but can't resist his charms ("My heart started thumpin'/Blood pressure jumpin'..."). Her lack of will power has even reduced her to speaking in tongues. (Can I get a "Whoooo!...Bop bop sookie doo wah"?) Plainly, the cat has got her number, both literally and figuratively. He walks her to her door and asks her out, but we never hear how that first date went. Chances are he either stood her up or dumped her shortly thereafter. No matter. At least we get a classic girl-group single out of it. (Those who still prefer the early '80s cover version by the British synth-pop female trio Bananarama after hearing the original will promptly be shown the door.) Now if you wanna hear how the song's protagonist should have responded to that no-account, smooth-talkin', good-for-nuthin' dawg, give Jean Knight's 1971 hit, "Mr. Big Stuff," a spin.

-- Reggie Collins

BABY WORKOUT: Jackie Wilson

As a live performer, the late Jackie Wilson had it all -- can't-take-your-eyes-off-him charisma and good looks coupled with not-of-this-earth talent as a singer/dancer. And he dressed sharp, to boot. (They didn't call him "Mr. Excitement" for nothing.) As a record-maker, however, the results were a little more mixed. Up through the mid-'60s, when Chicago soul producer Carl Davis took over, Wilson was almost always saddled with over-the-top, schmaltzy instrumental and vocal backup, courtesy of musical director/arranger Dick Jacobs. On the other hand, "Baby Workout," one of his biggest hits, teetered between hipness and the music your parents listened to: the jazzy, swinging, big band arrangement (provided by Gil Askey, in this instance) harkens back to musical stylings that sounded dated even when the record came blaring out of car and transistor AM radios back in '63. But it does irresistibly swing and, more importantly, rocks, no doubt helped along by Wilson's inimitable, multioctave, gospel-infused vocal delivery. It begins with Jackie grabbing the listener by the proverbial collar with a "Hey, you!/Come out here on the floor!/Let's rock some more...and work out!" Who, except for the most rhythmically challenged among us, could refuse such an invitation? Even though the lyrics are full of clichéd exhortations to perform anyone-can-do-it-including-grandma dance steps, you know that the man himself is putting on some impossibly cool, gravity-defying moves that implicitly warn the listener, Do not try this at home unless your name is James Brown or Michael Jackson. Call the doc if you can sit still during this one -- you may be diagnosed as suffering from a terminal affliction known as "dead man walking."

-- Reggie Collins

Sly & The Family Stone

A '60s soul box without Sylvester "Sly Stone" Stewart, one of the half-dozen most important and influential R&B figures ever? Well, keeping in the tradition of his late '60s/early '70s concerts, when he was notorious for hitting the stage three or four hours late, if at all, he's a no-show on this collection as well. But if it were up to us -- unfortunate legal barriers intruded -- he would definitely be dropping in for an appearance.

Sly broke all the rules. During a time when soul groups were tightly choreographed and dressed in matching, conservative outfits, the San Francisco-based Family Stone were free-form and favored the more outlandish psychedelic threads of their hippie brethren. When the norm dictated that soul groups be predominantly either vocal or instrumental, they were both. When groups were expected to feature only one or two primary lead singers, Sly had 'em all taking a line or two -- no drug pun intended. (In fact, Motown producer Norman Whitfield was so intrigued by that concept that he soon had The Temptations doing the same, as "Cloud Nine" and "Ball Of Confusion" attest.) On top of that, the members of Sly & The Family Stone were both black and white, male and female -- including a woman trumpet player to boot.

Sly basically used James Brown's brilliant, funk-laced blueprint as a base and took it to the next level, greatly expanding its scope and possibilities. He served as a midwife to those who followed, like Parliament/Funkadelic, the Ohio Players, Earth, Wind & Fire, and The Artist Formerly Known As Prince. And through the magic of the more recent practice of sampling, the man's been hip-hopped to death. Even though we couldn't include him here, do yourself a favor and buy Sly's "greatest hits" set, along with his masterpiece albums Stand! and There's A Riot Goin' On...and dance to the music.

-- Reggie Collins

BUT IT'S ALRIGHT: J.J. Jackson

If nothing else the '60s offered soul sisters stacks upon stacks of wax to lay into the men who'd done 'em wrong. Aretha had her turn; so did Gladys. But what about the fellas? What about the soul brother who gave his heart unconditionally to that special someone only to have it stomped on like a cigarette butt? Well, for that man and all his love-stung brethren there's 300 pounds of catharsis named J.J. Jackson. No, ain't no fakin' it -- Jackson knew the many pitfalls of love like the back of his hand. Just listen to his teeth-gnashing, larger-than-life belt. Hold on for dear life as it dukes it out with those crackling guitar bursts and howling horns. But most of all, pay close attention as the turmoil subsides and he reaches a simple, inevitable conclusion: "But It's Alright." Take it in and feel the heartache wash away like tears.

-- Steven Chean

WHO'S MAKING LOVE: Johnnie Taylor

Leave it to the Philosopher of Soul to shed some light on our nation's favorite backdoor sport. Yeah, it's probably safe to say that Johnnie Taylor rained on quite a few parades the day he emerged from Soulsville, U.S.A., asking the eye-opening question, "Who's makin' love to your old lady while you're out makin' love?" And if his words didn't trip up side-steppin' fellas like the pants around their ankles, chances are his open-throated howl did the trick. Or maybe it was the sassy brass and slicing six-string punching up the breaks. Either way, "Who's Making Love" stands as the final word on cheating, causing every two-timer in earshot to think twice about "staying late at the office."

-- Steven Chean

HEY THERE LONELY GIRL: Eddie Holman

You don't need a Veronica Randolph in your life to feel the heartache in Eddie Holman's "Hey There Lonely Girl." But it doesn't hurt, either. See, back in my senior year of high school, Veronica was The Dream, a dizzying presence with soft green eyes and a sad, beautiful smile. Needless to say, she ended up dating a jerk, Jason Roth, who, for some reason, also happened to be my best friend. All I remember from that year is the rain that wouldn't stop and a blur of afternoons spent sitting in my car in the school parking lot, listening to Holman's shimmering falsetto coasting from the AM. His was a soft, ironic lullaby to the image of Veronica standing stoop-shouldered in the distance, soaking wet, crying as Jason drove off with someone else...again. Well, this story doesn't really need an ending, does it? You can probably guess who took her home through all the storms, the lonely girl with the sad smile.

-- Steven Chean

SWEET SOUL MUSIC: Arthur Conley

No question about it: this barn-burner had anthem written all over it from the get go. Forget about the fiery horn intro straight outta the Stax cookbook; don't even consider the high-octane reworking of Sam Cooke's infectious "Yeah Man"; and ignore, if you can, the rock-steady backbeat rumbling low in the mix. Arthur Conley's inspired turn at the mike was all this props-giving masterpiece needed to earn its place high atop the pantheon of all-time soul greats. If the 21-year-old singer's confidence is at times mind-blowing, don't be surprised -- every grunt and holler was coached by Otis Redding, who's immortalized in the lyrics for his trademark stutter, "Fa fa-fa-fa fa fa fa." Bottom line: If you're still sitting by the time this one's over, you might want to check if you still have a pulse.

-- Steven Chean

EXPRESSWAY TO YOUR HEART: Soul Survivors

One of those rare gems that sound as good crackling from a beat-to-hell transistor radio as any space-age hi-fi system, "Expressway To Your Heart" is blue-eyed soul done right. Leave it to Kenny Gamble & Leon Huff, purveyors of the finest soul Philly had to offer, to take an all-white outfit, stick 'em in a studio, and make their gravelly vocals and jackhammer percussion sound as tight as anything Motown or Stax ever turned out. Precisely how these writer-producers cooked up the most innovative love metaphor of the era no one knows. Maybe it came from the members of the band, who supposedly met in the rubble of a nasty car wreck on the Jersey Turnpike. In any case, it hardly matters. When the Ingui brothers' yearning vocals collide with a barrage of honking horns and other automotive sound effects, the result is pure magic. Who would have guessed that their car of love would soon break down, leaving the Survivors stranded in the overpopulated town of One-Shot Wonder?

-- Steven Chean

CISSY STRUT: The Meters

(Warning: This track may induce hyperactivity and/or uncontrollable fits of hip-shaking. Listen with extreme caution.) You gotta hand it to a group that devotes itself to boldly exploring the outer reaches of funk. After all, it's dangerous territory -- lots of syncopated beats, roller-coaster jams, and grooves so tight you'd need the Jaws of Life to pry yourself out. But The Meters were pros, masters of the downbeat who could break off a slice like "Cissy Strut" as if they were born to do nothing else. A swirl of chunky six-string, spiraling keys, and skull-rattling rhythms, "Strut" is that defining moment when the brain shuts down and the rest is pure instinct. Enough said; any more words will just clutter up the mix.

-- Steven Chean

SNATCHING IT BACK: Clarence Carter

What's this? Clarence Carter, the backdoor lover like none other, talkin' 'bout commitment, devotion, and undying what-have-yous? Clarence Carter, the Muscle Shoals belter renown for his lascivious lovemaking jams, ready to throw in the home-wrecker's towel for one woman? Well, all I can say is she must be something else. Just listen as he summons all the heart of Southern soul in that lovelorn plea. And you can't deny the sincerity of the horns cryin' out over the fat hum of the organ. No, it looks like this is it for Carter. Gone are his days playing "Back Door Santa," convincing the ladies to "Slip Away" from hubby for a quick roll in the hay. Now, if he could only convince his special someone that this isn't just another of his playboy ploys, maybe she'd give up her love once and for all without so much as thinking of "Snatching It Back."

-- Steven Chean

SOUL FINGER: Bar-Kays

When they weren't backing Otis Redding with the tightest rhythm section south of the Mason-Dixon, the Bar-Kays were obviously rounding up friends, neighbors, and anyone else they could get their hands on for this brassy little nugget. Simply put, there isn't a platter of wax in all of creation that can approach the good-time party vibe of "Soul Finger." Enjoy.

-- Steven Chean

IT'S YOUR THING: The Isley Brothers

To truly appreciate the power of raw, undiluted funk, you could go out of your way and buy the entire Parliament-Funkadelic/Ohio Players/Cameo back catalogs. Or you could simply do what I did and sit in the backseat of a taxi cab for a half hour on the hottest day of the year. That way you could observe firsthand as your driver -- a robust, hairy, awkward man -- reels through a series of convulsions to the tune of "It's Your Thing" by the Isleys. That's how I was first funkified, at age 11. Witnessing that wooly beast move through a circuit of impromptu gyrations made me realize one thing: the need to get down to a thumping bass line, cascading guitar hook, and piping horn section cannot be restricted by time or place. As for ogling passersby or committing reckless endangerment with a moving vehicle, who cares? Baby, when the funk hits you, you gotta do what you gotta do.

-- Steven Chean

COOL JERK: The Capitols

Sure, you can Twist and Swim and Stroll with the best of 'em. You can light up the dance floor like the heavy cat that you are 'til you catch all the girls' eyes. But can you do it? Can you Cool Jerk? That's the question The Capitols were asking in the spring of '66 as they taunted hip-shakers everywhere with a chorus of hand claps and that bass with those mighty 88s. But Cool Jerkin' wasn't about who could shake a tail feather best. It was more than that. Reputations were at stake. And if you were cookin' -- really smooookin' -- then you too could be the king of the Cool Jerk. And if that's anything like howlin' vocalist Sam George says, well, it can't be bad, now can it?

-- Steven Chean

BACKFIELD IN MOTION: Mel & Tim

Some say that all is fair in love and war. Not Mississippi cousins Mel Hardin and Tim McPherson. The duo might agree with the second half; it's just the first part they'd have problems with. See, the way they've got it figured, on the playing field of love there are rules and regulations -- certain lines you just don't cross. Get caught with your, eh hmm, backfield in motion, you're gonna have to pay the price. Exposed offside and holding (onto someone else)? Same penalties apply. Fact is, once you peel away the bouncy instrumentation and ear-candy melody surrounding this novelty nugget, you'll find a hard and fast truth: Stepping out of bounds and trampling on hearts ain't gonna put many points up on the board. Not pretty, huh? Well, there's another old saying that goes, If you can't play by the rules, don't put on the uniform. By the sound of it, Mel & Tim would probably agree with that one.

-- Steven Chean

ONLY THE STRONG SURVIVE: Jerry Butler

Black Moses, The Godfather, The Wicked One. There's just something about a soul man with a badass nickname. Cuz you know monikers like those didn't come cheap -- not in the talent pool that was '60s soul they didn't. So what did these fellas have to do to get 'em? Part the Potomac? Raise the freakin' dead? In the case of one Jerry "The Ice Man" Butler, a cool, confident demeanor was the combination that set him apart from the herd. Well, that and a goose-bump-inducing bedroom baritone. Spin after spin, you were damn near guaranteed to feel a chill right down to your bones as The Ice Man cried out "Only The Strong Survive." Forget the lavish orchestration, courtesy of Philly soul masters Kenny Gamble & Leon Huff, and that can't-believe-it's-not-Steve-Cropper guitar line -- Butler's choked emotion was enough to make this uplifting classic a top-shelfer for any soul aficionado worth his record collection.

-- Steven Chean

GOT TO GET YOU OFF MY MIND: Solomon Burke

A preacher at age nine, a doctor of mortuary science, a father 21 times over, Solomon Burke was never one to spend too long in the confines of a recording studio. That's not to say he hasn't ripped the roof off a good many during a prolific career spanning some four decades. Fact is, Burke's varied occupations outside the studio are the magic ingredient in his soulful stew. It's a life heartily lived that he brings to the microphone, just as soon putting his resonant baritone to work on a former country hit like "Just Out Of Reach (Of My Two Open Arms)" as a deep-soul standard like "Got To Get You Off My Mind." But as any fan of The King of Rock and Soul will tell you, it's against the swingin' horn section of "Off My Mind" that Burke is at his best -- his pipes warming to a soft purr over that slow-burn rhythm. And if after a few seconds the cut begins to sound reminiscent of Sam Cooke's "Bring It On Home To Me," don't be surprised: Both men were simultaneously sinning against the same Book, risking eternal hellfire as they pried the gospel from the pulpit and brought it to the pop charts, all in the name of soul.

-- Steven Chean

BYE BYE BABY: Mary Wells

It would take a vault the size of the Silverdome to store the countless soul records offering some variation on the ol' you-took-my-love-and-threw-it-away sentiment. Let's face it, as tired thematic standbys go, this one's about as worn out as the spit shine on the shoes of a third-rate Four Tops. That said, Mary Wells' "Bye Bye Baby" is nothing less than a revelation. It's got all the same clichés, yet somehow when Mary tells her story it's as if the plight of the brokenhearted had never before (or since) had fitting expression. But then such is the wonder of youth, the ability of a 17-year-old Detroit high school student to infuse her lyrics with all the pain they deserve, simply because the wounds are fresh, the feelings real. Real even after 22 takes in the recording studio, which might account for the hoarse texture of young Mary's voice. Two years before the commencement of her own personal hit parade, "Bye Bye Baby" features a little-known side of Wells -- a rough, assertive stylist who hadn't yet mastered the cotton-candy tones that would make her a household name from Motown to Everytown.

-- Steven Chean

SUNNY: Bobby Hebb

"Sunny" is purity and gratitude wrapped, taut and shining, like a birthday present you could bounce a new nickel off of. I don't know what became of Nashville singer/songwriter Bobby Hebb -- who at age 12 graced the Grand Ole Opry stage, playing spoons with Roy Acuff's Smoky Mountain Boys -- but he's left an indelible mark on my life with his "Sunny" song. I was just turning two when this song came out, and I was already discovering my love for music. "Sunny" was one of my grandmother's favorite records and, seeing as I couldn't read yet, it was the 45's bright blue Philips label and easy five-letter title that made it a snap for me to find whenever she came to visit. I became "Sunny" to my granny in those tender years, and that's a love rush that will burn in my heart forever. Thank you, Bobby.

-- A. Scott Galloway

FLY ME TO THE MOON: Bobby Womack

It still trips me out how my favorite versions of Bart Howard's "Fly Me To The Moon (In Other Words)," one by Tom Jones and the other by Bobby Womack, are as different as night and day. Tom's version, a thrilling arrangement that moves between a come-hither bossa nova and an all-out swing-out, is for the domain of, well, swingers. It's a thunderin' Thursday at happy hour, an invitation to a three-day weekend of bliss that Tom milks with a bravado all men, on some occasion, wish they had on tap to snare some elusive butterfly. Bobby's far more earthy version opens with a gently lilting guitar line that whispers, "Take my hand" and could pass for a marriage proposal. There's Womack's patented ache, a wail that punctuates every verse and punctures your very soul as the horns and strings, mere cushions here, part the skyways for your rock-steady two-step up the stairway to the stars. Bobby better captured the essence of the song, but in my record stack, there will always be a slot for both.

-- A. Scott Galloway

LOVE IS LIKE AN ITCHING IN MY HEART: The Supremes

By 1966 The Supremes had reached puberty, so to speak, thanks in no small part to the coming-of-age songs that producers Holland-Dozier-Holland penned for them. And while you can sense the teen angst of "You Can't Hurry Love" and the heartache in "You Keep Me Hangin' On," you can feel the thinly veiled lustiness of "Love Is Like An Itching In My Heart" -- even before Diana Ross sings about a love-bug bite that sends her rockin' and a-reelin' with fever. It's in the drive of the bass and drums -- a sex drive if ever there was one, pulsating even stronger as the jazzy vibraphone licks and saxophone sneak in. The funny thing about the lyric is that even though Diana is totally in the dark about what she's feeling, she instinctively knows it isn't something she should bring up at breakfast come morning: "It's a burning sensation / Far beyond imagination."

-- A. Scott Galloway

CHOICE OF COLORS: The Impressions

In 1969 Curtis Mayfield was but a year shy of bowing out gracefully from The Impressions. But he wasn't leaving without dropping just a taste more insight on both sides of the race-relations divider. The last of three singles from their album The Young Mods' Forgotten Story was a top-of-mind contemplation that crowned the R&B chart. I picture Curtis politely polling people at the mouth of the tunnel on that album cover, his spectacled eyes peering softly into theirs for an answer. And as the vibraphone dings their befuddlement, and Donny Hathaway's strings play a reverential pun on the line "we shall overcome," Curtis clasps their hands and kindly breaks his message down for them: "People must prove to the people/A better day is coming."

-- A. Scott Galloway

SHAKE AND FINGERPOP: Jr. Walker & All Stars

The sound of a Junior Walker jam is the sound of a man who loved his work. From the opening squeal and guttural grunts he sang through his saxophone to the unbridled excitement of his soul-shoutin', Junior and his crack trio were livin' for the weekend to set fires under folks' feet. Nobody "got" that message better than my friend Art Porter, who in the year of this writing left this earth far too soon. Thank God for wireless microphones 'cause if nobody else partied at Art's shows, he always did, scootin' and boogyin' across the stage while he blew his horn -- sharp as a tack! He and Junior are probably trading choruses right now, moppin' each other's brows and settin' mo' fires in that juke joint in the sky. Hope the girls' wigs are on tight.

-- A. Scott Galloway

BAREFOOTIN': Robert Parker

In Crescent City, Louisiana, there stands a statue of a smiling face framed by a wreath of happy, winking feet. It is located at the archway to the hallowed halls of the FFF (Foot Fetishists Forever) and is there to honor the organization's founding father, Robert Parker. For it was he who put forth the danceable decree to "barefoot," as it were, thus officially (and odorously, in unfortunate cases) defrocking all future party practitioners of their socks. Though the preface of losing one's shoes before partying down had long been practiced outside the auspices of the law (see Junior Walker & The All Stars' "Shake And Fingerpop"), it was Parker's world-renown "Barefootin'" bill (and its lesser-known amendment, "Tip Toe") that legalized the practice. This historical minute was brought to you by the makers of Spic-n-Span.

-- A. Scott Galloway

TAKE ME IN YOUR ARMS (ROCK ME A LITTLE WHILE): Kim Weston

There are few things in life more pitiful than being dumped by your lover. Richard Pryor masterfully captured that swirling madness of emotions in a routine called "When Your Woman Leaves You." And Kim Weston deftly conveyed the same feelings in this Holland-Dozier-Holland classic -- the helpless desperation, shown with no shame, for all the world to see. Years later, Motown diva Diana Ross would croon amid an acre of strings the grandly melancholy "Touch Me In The Morning," and it was good. But Weston, a drifter who resided briefly at Hitsville, left behind a face-saving finger-popper that preserved a smidgen more dignity for the dejected.

-- A. Scott Galloway

I WAS MADE TO LOVE HER: Stevie Wonder

"I Was Made To Love Her" represents the summit of Steveland's teen years at Motown -- the youngest world-renowned superstar on the label (pre-Michael Jackson) -- before his mind began to wander from a girl in pigtails to the world as pigsty tales. Sweetness drips from his harmonica and sincerity rings from his voice -- a voice that could make you believe anything he chose to sing. That's probably why he got so many ass-whippin's as a boy (detailed in "I Wish"). He'd hoodwink and make a fool outta ya! "I was knee-high to a chicken when that love-bug bit me," Stevie signifies. It was more than "baby love," after all.

-- A. Scott Galloway

GIRL WATCHER: The O'Kaysions

"Girl Watcher" was custom-built for the transistor radio -- all shimmy-shimmy cymbals, peppy horns, and dippity-doo guitars. Along with Young-Holt Unlimited's "Dig Her Walk," it was the spring-into-summer rallying call that put fellas on 24-hour alert for sightings of bikinis and hip-huggers, harlots in halters. It was the ditty that brought out the Benny (Hill that is) in men ages 6 to 60. With a breezy swing and lyrics that sent you on a mission, this interracial sextet out of Wilson, North Carolina, earned their 15 minutes in the sun and gave us the ultimate ode to man's favorite pastime: turnin' ta 'toons at the sight of a foxy lady. "And here comes one now...."

-- A. Scott Galloway

STAND BY ME: Ben E. King

I can hear it now: that thumping bass line warmed by some swirling, soulful strings. With one heart-stopping crescendo Ben E. King's plaintive plea became an anthem, one sung by many oh so many a lover. Maybe that's because no other song -- no other singer -- found just the right words: darling, would you please stand by me? When we heard King's signature voice, we knew we would be sidin' up to someone to pop the question. And those of us bright-eyed and bushy-tailed enough to believe in romance eagerly agreed to stand by.

-- Suzan Jenkins

NOTHING TAKES THE PLACE OF YOU: Toussaint McCall

There was many a party when a chiffon scarf placed meticulously atop a lampshade lent just the right mood. That and a mellifluous baritone wafting through our basement speakers. McCall's inimitable declaration set the tone for a ballad made in heaven. It conjured up just the type of devotion we prayed we could evoke from the stranger holding us tight on the dance floor. Soulful and sure, McCall told us what it feels like to love a lover.

-- Suzan Jenkins

I'VE BEEN LOVING YOU TOO LONG (TO STOP NOW): Otis Redding

When the grind got to slow, and the slow got to grindin', wasn't nobody could tell us just how tortured a life we can lead like Otis Redding. What couldn't the man do with a song? One of the most evocative, heartwrenching ballads ever to hit the charts -- from Bed-Stuy to St. Louis to San Jose -- "I've Been Loving You" somehow made the mood. You know, when the basement was cozy, the blue lights were just right, and Otis was on the box. We were in love and we promised to do right...at least for the moment.

-- Suzan Jenkins

TIME IS TIGHT: Booker T. & The M.G.'s

In the scorching summer of '69 a party just wasn't going nowhere without the driving rhythm and melody line of "Time Is Tight." Something about Booker T. Jones' fat organ hum backed by Steve Cropper's soulful guitar riffs, "Duck" Dunn's thumpin' bass line, and Al Jackson's steady drum work. It kicked off a bar-b-que right, laying a groove that lasted well into the hot, starry summer night. Time was tight all right, and that was more than just fine with the bell-bottomed, hip-hugged crowd dancing in the moonlight.

-- Suzan Jenkins

STAY IN MY CORNER: The Dells

There was no better slow-grind tune than The Dells' "Stay In My Corner." When the missionaries at my San Juan school realized that I had imported this album from the States, they spent the majority of our junior high sock hop shoving 6-inch rulers between those lucky enough to score a partner for the declaration. As far as heartfelt revelations were concerned, The Dells were my heroes. And when I found a boy who was man enough to match their sentiment, he was mine!

-- Suzan Jenkins

B-A-B-Y: Carla Thomas

Now, you know that when he's got it, you just want to shout about it. Leave it to Carla to shout just how we felt when that certain someone glanced our way. Her swinging, upbeat "B-A-B-Y" recording gave us just the right amount of ammunition to march right out on that dance floor and claim that great-looking, hip-swaying catch as our own. Oh yeah, I like it!

-- Suzan Jenkins

GET ON UP: The Esquires

When the DJ put this classic platter on the turntable, the floor would be littered with gyrating hips and heads. And every wallflower in earshot was dreading it, because they knew that when The Esquires' song hit, there was just no sitting down. The rich harmonies and upbeat rhythm sent a wave through the dance crowd, and all those eager to strut their stuff got on up and did The Boogaloo and The Shing-A-Ling.

-- Suzan Jenkins

SAD GIRL: Jay Wiggins

It can be a big mistake to rely too much on the charts when choosing records for a package such as Beg, Scream & Shout. Take "Sad Girl," a song that never made the charts, yet every black person -- and quite a few nonblacks who listened obsessively to soul radio -- knew every note of it. Nobody had any idea who Jay Wiggins was, but there's no doubt that Billy Stewart was listening heavily (no pun intended) to this side. Fact is, if Jay had been a violent man, Billy Stewart might have had a bloody nose when his "I Do Love You" became a hit.

-- Billy Vera

LIPSTICK TRACES (ON A CIGARETTE): The O'Jays

We're so used to seeing three O'Jays that it's easy to forget that, when "Lipstick Traces" was made, there were five members in the group. The lead singer, Bill Isles, who also sang on their version of The Spiders' oldie "You're The One," disappeared from the act not long after. Voices like his went out of favor as the soul era took hold, but it is perfect for this great Allen Toussaint song. He shows that you don't have to deviate from the melody to express yourself in a soulful way.

-- Billy Vera

BABY, I'M YOURS: Barbara Lewis

"Baby, I'm Yours" is one of the best songs Van McCoy ever wrote -- a great melody sung with all the innocence Barbara Lewis was famous for. You can hear Van singing all the background parts. He was able to overdub his voice several times, courtesy of the fact that Atlantic had one of the first 8-track Ampex machines in professional use. As staff songwriters for the publisher of "Baby, I'm Yours," Chip Taylor and I were able to grab the ears of producer Jerry Wexler and secure for ourselves one of Barbara's follow-up singles, "Make Me Belong To You."

-- Billy Vera

MAKE ME YOURS: Bettye Swann

All the customers at the Boss Record Shop, where I worked on Saturdays back in '67, thought "Make Me Yours" was Barbara Lewis' latest record. The store's owner, Charlie "Dr. Pill" Yates, had schooled me never to correct the customers: "They don't want to be told they're wrong; they just want their record." So when they came in asking for the "new Barbara Lewis record," I just put it on the record player, and they walked out happy with "Make Me Yours" in their hot little hands. Who was I to correct them?

-- Billy Vera

DEAD END STREET MONOLOGUE/DEAD END STREET: Lou Rawls

Lou Rawls has one of the most recognizable singing or speaking voices in the world. When it comes to spoken introductions on record, only Isaac Hayes and Barry White even come close to his intimacy. Lou is the master blaster of prerap. On "Dead End Street," his recitation about his home town, Chicago, and its "almighty hawk," puts you right in the middle of the action. You can almost feel the chill down to your bones.

-- Billy Vera

AIN'T NOTHIN' BUT A HOUSE PARTY: The Show Stoppers

The title says it all on this Philadelphia house rocker. All the wildness of a Saturday night house party is captured in the grooves. You can almost smell the ham hocks and greens cooking in the kitchen. I can still picture the group's guitarist, Joe Thomas, with his Clark Kent horn-rim glasses. He played with Billy Stewart, I seem to recall, prior to this record. Dig his tasty licks, popping up in all the right places.

-- Billy Vera

SEESAW: Don Covay And The Goodtimers

The Don came up with this quirky gem with the songwriting and production assistance of Booker T. & The M.G.'s Steve Cropper. Believe it or not, Cropper says that many of his trademark oddball chord changes came from simply "following the dots" on the neck of his Telecaster. That aside, Covay uses much of the same lyrics as The Moonglows' record of the same title, only his cut sounds like it's from a different planet, courtesy of a crazy rhythm pattern and that wacky second voice that shows up on his records of this period.

-- Billy Vera

AGENT DOUBLE-O-SOUL: Edwin Starr

Edwin Starr's "Agent Double-O-Soul" remains the funniest, and therefore the hippest, undercover-lover routine ever committed to wax -- with the possible exception of Jamo Thomas & His Party Brothers' crazed "I Spy (For The FBI)." Backed by the notorious Funk Brothers (aka Motown's top session band, doing a little moonlighting and getting fined by Berry Gordy -- and publicly paid back double by Ric-Tic honcho Eddie Wingate -- for their trouble), the titular character out-dresses ("strictly Continental suits and high-collared shirts"), out-dances ("I can do The Twine and The Jerk"), and covertly out-cools (taking "a fellow who was down on rock 'n' roll" and turning him into "a DJ on a radio show, a station that everybody knows") any and all fools in sight. Words -- and music -- to live by.

-- Don Waller

SOME KIND OF WONDERFUL: Soul Brothers Six

Led by guitarist-singer-songwriter John Ellison, the Soul Brothers Six collectively stand as one of the all-time great self-contained (they sing 'n' play all the instruments themselves) soul bands in the land -- the kind you might find wearin' the shine off the dance floor four sets a night down at Loucye's Orbit Room, the Club 86, and the Zircon Lounge. Their relentlessly loping "Some Kind Of Wonderful" has been scientifically proven to be tuff enuff to withstand remakes by Grand Funk and Huey Lewis & The News without any measurable loss in frostimilitude. The SBS never made an album (!), but the rest of the group's records for Atlantic -- "You Better Check Yourself" b/w "What Can You Do (When You Ain't Got Nobody)" in particular -- are sequels that equal, if not surpass, their one-hit wonderful one.

-- Don Waller

SHE'S LOOKING GOOD: Rodger Collins

Rodger Collins's original paean to pulchritude, "She's Looking Good," cuts no less than the Wicked Wilson Pickett's hit rendition in half and walks between the slices. Chock full o' nutty lines like "When you call my name now/Call me Mister Clean," "Mama get your mojo/And Papa get your gun," and "You wear your foxy fur/When you step out late at night," Collins' composition never cracked the Billboard "Hot 100" and remains almost unknown outside El Lay and the city whose femmes he would later wax proud about on "Foxy Girls In Oakland." Make me wanna holler, Hey! (Hey-ayay!) And give the drummer some....

-- Don Waller

WE GOT MORE SOUL: Dyke & The Blazers

Led by singer-songwriter Arlester Christian, the boys in the band known as Dyke & The Blazers threw down a performance on "We Got More Soul" that offered incontrovertible proof of their postulate -- especially that rhythmic change in the bridge, which is so unrelated to the previous section it can only be negotiated by a band that's tighter than a Mother Superior. Which partially essplains how in the wake of Dyke's death, most of 'em went on to further express themselves as members of Charles Wright & The Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band. And dig whom Dyke name-checks as appropriate soul role models: Ray Charles, James Brown, and Johnny Taylor; Aretha Franklin, Nancy Wilson (!), and Pearl Bailey (!!!). Further proof of the incredible God-like genius of Dyke & The Blazers: their manic, monochromatic, original version of "Funky Broadway" (first pressed on the Artco label, funk fans).

-- Don Waller

FUNNY: Joe Hinton

Once heard, Joe Hinton's saloon-soul version of Willie Nelson's venerable composition "Funny" can neither be easily forgotten nor dismissed. Not only does it demonstrate the ease with which a country tearjerker can be transformed into a deep-soul ballad, but it also showcases the Texas-based tenor's magnificent "soul Sinatra" vocals. Listen to the way he name-checks himself on the line "You never can tell when Joe Hinton will come back in town" and the way he holds that famous last, glass-shattering falsetto note all the way into the record's run-off groove. Performed live, you must've been able to hear the ice melting in the champagne buckets.

-- Don Waller

TAINTED LOVE: Gloria Jones

A true cult heroine, Cincinnati native Gloria Jones not only cut what would become the classic Northern soul stomper "Tainted Love" -- a song remade/remodeled into a worldwide smash some 18 years later by British synth-pop duo Soft Cell -- but also the similarly prized, ground-pounding "Heartbeat" for Uptown Records in 1965. She cowrote the 1974 smash duet "My Mistake (Was To Love You)" for Diana Ross and Marvin Gaye along with the Grammy-nominated "If I Were Your Woman" for Gladys Knight & The Pips. And, as if that wasn't enough, she eventually became the late T. Rex front man Marc Bolan's Jeepster of Love.

-- Don Waller

SEARCHING FOR MY LOVE: Bobby Moore & The Rhythm Aces

"Searching For My Love" stands as eternal proof that at least half of the greatest records in rock, soul, and pop were created not by superstar artistes but by one-shot wonders such as Bobby Moore & The Rhythm Aces, who reached down into their spiritual essence for one bright, shining moment of utter transcendent brilliance only to promptly fall off the edge of the earth and be last seen driving a '69 Karmann Ghia down Laurel Canyon Boulevard. Even if you don't believe all that, you've got to admire a tune such as this, which not only sounds as if the instrumental track was worked up during a hip, late-night set down at Bambi's G-Spot, but also boasts the most loose-limbed -- not to mention the most plaintive -- lead vocal this side of the late, great (300 pounds-plus) Billy Stewart.

-- Don Waller

THE OOGUM BOOGUM SONG: Brenton Wood

Brenton Wood's birth certificate reads Alfred Smith, but he got his stage name from the now-infamous L.A. neighborhood of Brentwood. While his other '67 smash for Double Shot Records ("Gimme Little Sign") sports the cheesiest organ sound this side of a monkey with a tin cup, it's on such no-nonsense material as "The Oogum Boogum Song" that Wood's reputation as an acute observer of contemporary fashion trends ultimately rests. The entire record is nothing less than a catalog of psychedelic-era couture: hip-hugger suits and high-heeled boots, miniskirts and sloppy shirts, big earrings, long hair and things, bell-bottom pants that put him in a trance and -- a perennial favorite -- a cute trench coat when you're standing there posing. And does he really say, "Check out the boots, yeah, check out the boots, yeah" on the 45's famous final fade or is he even a more cunning linguist than we think?

-- Don Waller

SHE SHOT A HOLE IN MY SOUL: Clifford Curry

Clifford Curry's rompin', stompin', double-barreled assault on the self-appointed arbiters of Good Taste, "She Shot A Hole In My Soul" sports the sort of felonious punk wordplay associated with "Little" Elvis Costello, as evidenced by the tiny murders alluded to in the tune's title. (Although the verse in which the vocalist wanders into an unfamiliar nightspot to sit in with an all-too-obliging band is perhaps more reminiscent of movies of a rather more famous Elvis.)

-- Don Waller

THE REAL NITTY GRITTY: Shirley Ellis With The Hutch Davie Orch. & Chorus

Concurrent with the trend of setting gospel-rooted vocalists in front of string sections (the Drifters, Chuck Jackson, blah blah blah) was a frequent attempt to isolate those gospel forms that provoked the greatest emotional reaction, toss in a gimmick, and hope for a dance sensation that'd sweep the nation. Shirley Ellis' "The Real Nitty Gritty" is a fine, fine, super-fine example of such double-beatin', keep repeatin', good ol' fashion gospel call 'n' response, featuring utter nonsense lyrics sung with real religious fervor and some superbly tacky crowd noises tossed in on top. Good writers make it look so E-Z!

-- Don Waller

BOOGALOO DOWN BROADWAY: The Fantastic Johnny C

Ow! Makes Van Morrison -- if you believe what he sings in "Wild Night," anyway -- "wanna put on [his] hot pants and 'Boogaloo Down Broadway,'" which is a gen-u-wine pop culture reference to this whack-attack, recorded by the modestly monikered Fantastic Johnny C (aka Johnny Corley) for the -- say it slow -- Phil-L.A. Of Soul label (the logo featured a fish bone). Although not without a certain greazy charm generally associated with pig's ear sandwiches, Mr. C's disc nevertheless gets a lot of its flavor from the flip side, which is the exact same instrumental track and melody -- only with the lyrics changed to "Look What Love Can Make You Do" or some such jive.

-- Don Waller

LOVE MAKES THE WORLD GO ROUND: Deon Jackson

Hey, we love all people. After all, "Love Makes The World Go Round." Just ask Deon Jackson, who voiced such a sentiment in his '66 smash for Carla Records, one of several Detroit-based labels named after producer Ollie McLaughlin's daughters. (Karen Records, home to The Capitols' "Cool Jerk," was another.) While the disc's ultrahip d-d-d-drumming and that indelible melody played on those totally tubular bells might help Deon prove to you that "these facts of love are true," the record's real moment of romantic genius comes on that transcendent dedication to "Billy, Sherry, Bobby, Marsha and, baby, you and I...."

-- Don Waller

LAST NIGHT: Mar-Keys

As further evidence of the magical, musical miscegenation that results from salt 'n' pepper Southerners playing side by side, we proudly present the almost indescribably raunchy "Last Night." Reportedly pieced together from a series of integrated jam sessions by then-staff producer Chips Moman, this flipped-disc preceded Booker T. & The M.G.'s' kick-starting career move, "Green Onions," by 13 months. Credited to the Mar-Keys -- M.G.'s dirty white boy guitarist Steve Cropper's high school band of erstwhile R&B riff-slingers -- the initial copies of "Last Night" appeared on the Satellite label until the discovery of a previously existing diskery operating under that same name forced Memphis music mavens Jim STewart and Estelle AXton to press subsequent copies of this '61 smash on their new, oh-so-cleverly named label, Stax Records.

-- Don Waller

WACK WACK: The Young Holt Trio

After enterprising jazzbo Ramsey Lewis succeeded in deconstructing Dobie Gray's 1965 elitist manifesto, "The 'In' Crowd," into a party-hearty excursion into the musical netherworld (which can be found within the friendly confines of a Naugahyde corner booth and the upper reaches of the pop charts), it's not surprising that Lewis' rhythm section of bassist Eldee Young and drummer Isaac "Red" Holt opted for a bigger piece of the action. Adopting the Young Holt Trio identifier (later changing their name to Young Holt Unlimited), they hopped the $ucce$$ Expre$$ with such chart-making, booty-shaking ditty-boppers as the scat-sung groovilaciousness of "Wack Wack" and the laid-back and smokin' "Soulful Strut." Incidentally the latter was nothing more -- or less -- than pianist Don Walker playing over the instrumental track for Barbara Acklin's inexplicable nonhit, "Am I The Same Girl."

-- Don Waller

DANGER HEARTBREAK DEAD AHEAD: The Marvelettes

Trafficking in automotive metaphors and built on a truckin' bass line modeled after the ground-poundin' prototype found on Martha & The Vandellas' "Nowhere To Run," The Marvelettes' recording of "Danger Heartbreak Dead Ahead" all but screams Motown Formula One. Staff writers/producers Clarence Paul-Ivy Jo Hunter-Mickey Stevenson ask the musical question, "Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?" ("It's vanity, insanity," the girls answer.) As for that mysterious, bargain-basement Crystals imitation ("Too Hurt To Cry, Too Much In Love To Say Goodbye") credited to the Darnells on Gordy in 1963, hey, our lips are sealed....

-- Don Waller

LEAVING HERE: Eddie Holland

Powered by a punchy, left-right combination of guitars 'n' drums and a positively surreal story line (protagonist dreams that all the women leave town because of the evil that men do), singer-songwriter-producer Eddie Holland's "Leaving Here" is easily the rawkkkin'-est song in Motown's catalog. It has proven itself capable of withstanding cover versions by everyone from legendary Motor City punk soulsters The Rationals, failed teen idol Tommy Good, and (current Rolling Stones guitarist Ronnie Wood's first outfit) The Birds to heavy-metal cases Motörhead, self-proclaimed "maximum R&B" outfit The Who and, most recently, Seattle grungemeisters Pearl Jam.

-- Don Waller

RAINBOW: Gene Chandler

Gene Chandler's original version of the Curtis Mayfield-penned "Rainbow" was so admirably well-suited to the erstwhile Duke of Earl's new, wounded playboy persona, that he managed to land a hit with it all over again two years later. That hit, cleverly titled "Rainbow '65," was recorded live! at the Regal Theatre in his hometown of Chicago and captured Chandler testifyin' with a this-church-is-on-fire! intensity. It's basically 4:58 of beggin' over a cyclical vamp, earmarked by all the down-home soul man vocal pyrotechnics (intentional stuttering, falsetto flights, and repetition, repetition) so beloved of Van Morrison that he not only name-checked Chandler and the song on the fade of "Real Real Gone" but also based the latest 40 albums of his career on the musical concept contained therein. Think about it.

-- Don Waller

I SOLD MY HEART TO THE JUNKMAN: The Blue-Belles

"I Sold My Heart To The Junkman," although credited to The Blue-Belles, was actually recorded by labelmates The Starlets (who?), which -- if you consider the 20-plus years that towering talent Patti LaBelle (born Patrica Holt) spent on the chitlin circuit prior to her '80s pop success -- goes a looong way toward explaining the patented, no-man-alive-can-make-me-leave-the-stage vocal excesses that've characterized her live performances ever since. Regardless of who sang it, the trashy recording -- coupled with the throw-that-beat-in-the-garbage-can drumming -- unconsciously mirrors the subject matter and provides most of the tune's not inconsiderable emotional weight.

-- Don Waller

MUSTANG SALLY: Sir Mack Rice

Like Wilson Pickett, Eddie Floyd, and Joe Stubbs (Four Tops front man Levi's brother), Sir Mack Rice -- the title was honorary -- had been a member of The Falcons, the Detroit-based vocal group of "So Fine" and "I Found A Love" fame. Given the popularity of the titular vehicle, it was hardly surprising that a Detroiter would dream up this most Solomonic song of songs. Rice's original version of "Mustang Sally" predates Pickett's by about half a year. Slightly slower, arguably funkier -- fellow Motor City madman/auteur Andre Williams cops the production credits -- the writer's version was either just too hip for the Big Room or not-so-mute testimony to Jerry Wexler's song-spotting, Pickett and the Stax band's performance and, of course, the difference in promotional power between Atlantic Records and one of Mercury's R&B subsidiaries.

-- Don Waller

SOCK IT TO 'EM J.B. - PART I: Rex Garvin And The Mighty Cravers

A lashing, slashing, churnin' urn of burnin' funk, Rex Garvin & The Mighty Cravers' "Sock It To 'Em J.B." soul-twists two little initials into an inexorable exorcise of bad ham-writing 'n' poor punmanship. On one hand, they're talkin' 'bout James Brown -- the rock-solid groove is eerily prescient of Butane James' "Money Won't Change You" -- and on the other, they're talkin' 'bout James Bond -- witness the shout-out film titles when they take it to the bridge, y'all (Dr. No, From Russia With Love, Goldfinger, Thunderball, and Casino...Royale). Smoke, Mighty Cravers. Smoke.

-- Don Waller

THE ENTERTAINER: Tony Clarke

Riding a tumescent organ that quotes "I've Got Plenty Of Nuthin'," Tony Clarke's two-minutes-and-thirty-four-seconds slice-of-life and life only "The Entertainer" provides the underscore for the age-old adage "If it's lonely at the top, it's only because it's so crowded at the bottom." It's also the song that Elvis Costello goes to sleep each night wishing he could've written.

-- Don Waller

ICE CREAM SONG: The Dynamics

A few years back Detroit radio legend "Frantic" Ernie Durham had a Saturday night Souldies Music Plus show on WDET. Ten 'til two, just before DJ "Famous" Coachman's infamous blues show. That's when I heard "The Ice Cream Song" for the first time. The simple melody that opens the song. Then the lyric. The first couplet was goofy enough to make Smokey blush, but each line got more serious than the last, until lead singer "Zeke" Harris fell on his knees (you can't actually hear that, but you can hear it, if you know what I mean) and delivered what had to be the most believable "I love you" ever stamped on vinyl. The song ended. I pulled over, called the station, and spent the next two years either looking for a copy of the 45 or trying to get the tune out of my head. It turned out that "The Ice Cream Song" was a serious smash in Detroit back in the day, and I wasn't the only one wandering around in search of a copy. Here's yours, lucky dog, and all you had to do was go to the nearest record store.

-- David Gorman

PRIVATE NUMBER: Judy Clay & William Bell

I know soul music is supposed to be all about grit and funk and raw feeling, but Booker T.'s string-and-horn arrangement is so tight that it sounds like those fake synth-orchestras that you hear on bad pop ballads these days. For some reason, that impresses me. And although I've never been a big Phil Spector fan, this sounds like one of his productions done on a Memphis budget, and that impresses me too. The way it builds from a guitar lick to a piano and then -- BAM! -- you're in front of the Memphis Symphony Orchestra, guest vocalists: William Bell and Judy Clay. There's the grit and funk and raw feeling part. He's cool and mellow, she's ready to shout, and the whole thing blows up with that big crash of the cymbals.

-- David Gorman

STOP: Howard Tate

This is one of those 45s where as soon as the needle finds the groove, you're looking around -- your mouth hanging open and your feet hitting the floor hard enough to skip the record -- just to see if anyone else is digging this song as much as you are. When I first found this disc (more than 20 years after its crawl up the R&B charts) it hit me so hard that I wanted to turn every soul fanatic I knew onto Howard Tate. But they already knew. Like Van Gogh or James Carr before him, Howard Tate's lack of success only reinforced his legend. Here was a guy who made three killer soul albums and a couple of stray singles for five different labels and then vanished. Some say he's a street preacher in Philly. Maybe he's punching a clock somewhere in the South. Of course it's all trivia unless the guy looking for him is carrying a record deal.

-- David Gorman

THE WHOLE WORLD IS A STAGE: The Fantastic Four

The Fantastic Four had the Tempts' harmonies down, and the song was pure Smokey (who else could have stretched Shakespeare's metaphor this far?). "The Whole World Is A Stage" might as well have been the follow-up to "(I Know) I'm Losing You." But it wasn't just that other folks around the city were simply copying the sound of Motown's hits -- labels like Ric-Tic would actually hire the Hitsville house band to play on their records. Now, the house band probably thought they were being sly, but anyone with ears on the sides of their head could hear that they were sneakin' around on the boss. Rather than up the salaries to keep his band loyal, Gordy simply bought competing labels and put them out of business, simultaneously acquiring new talent, thinning the competition, and reminding his musicians how lucky they were to have jobs.

-- David Gorman

I'M IN LOVE: Wilson Pickett

So the legend goes: Sam Cooke was the most beloved, important and, arguably, talented figure in R&B when he was shot dead in a $3-a-night motel. Bobby Womack, who was discovered and nurtured by Sam, married the widow. Some say he even showed up to the funeral in one of Sam's suits. It was a scandal in the R&B world that nearly destroyed Bobby's career. DJs threw his records in the trash. He needed an outlet for his songs and for this one in particular, which would be his plea for the world to understand just how deeply in love he was with the former Barbara Cooke. Bobby was hurtin'. So bad, he once said, "I wore shades to hide my pain." He handed the song to Pickett, who tore into Womack's ballad with the same blood-on-his-fangs attack that earned the Wicked One his title to begin with. The tension is intense. Womack's guitar weeps like a man defeated while Pickett wields the lyrics like a weapon. The result, no surprise, is the most passionate declaration of love the world will ever know, delivered by two of soul's most notorious players. Bobby did end up cutting the song on his own, but as good as he can sing, Pickett stands alone. And besides, Pickett also had the good sense to leave out the line "I got me a woman who understands/she can't do nothin' without a good man."

-- David Gorman

IT'S GOT TO BE MELLOW: Leon Haywood

Just a guess: Writer, producer, performer Leon Haywood visits Detroit and absorbs the local music scene. He hears some great Motor City soul, including Edwin Starr's "Stop Her On Sight (S.O.S.)," Martha & The Vandellas' "My Baby Loves Me," and Marvin Gaye's "Crazy 'Bout My Baby." He goes back to the studio in New York where he honestly believes he wrote "It's Got To Be Mellow." And, in a way, he did. Romare Bearden is a great artist who worked in collage. For three minutes, so is Leon Haywood. When it's all said and done, "It's Got To Be Mellow" stands on its own as a great single, and Leon Haywood had an impressive enough career to put any doubts about his talents to rest.

-- David Gorman

OPEN THE DOOR TO YOUR HEART: Darrell Banks

It seems like every soul record out of Detroit had the Motown sound stamped into it, even if it didn't come from Motown. That fat baritone sax rolls under the song and you already know where this guy is from. Or maybe it's that tinny chop of the guitar. But the best part of non-Motown Motown records is that they were just a little bit more soulful. Maybe the folks at Revilot didn't share Berry Gordy's vision of making black music for white people. Or maybe they just couldn't afford the string section. Either way, it allowed folks like Darrell Banks to cut killer soul without compromise. His first and biggest hit was the only one he wrote. It was also darkly prophetic. Two years after "Open The Door To Your Heart" hit, Darrell Banks died on the streets of Detroit, the door to his heart opened by a bullet from the gun of a jealous cop who was having an affair with his girlfriend.

-- David Gorman

THAT'S HOW IT FEELS: The Soul Clan

Featuring: Arthur Conley, Ben E. King, Don Covay, Solomon Burke & Joe Tex

In 1968 Arthur Conley, Ben E. King, Don Covay, Solomon Burke, and Joe Tex decided to get together and form The Soul Clan (actually, Arthur was a last-minute replacement for Otis Redding, who was called to add his vocals to the heavenly choir). Behind the boards and plucking the chords was another legend in the making -- Bobby Womack. Given the list of ingredients there was no way that "Soul Meeting" could do any worse than sit on top of the world for, oh, about a year. Only one problem: the DJs didn't flip it over. 'Cuz on the backside was the song -- the one that sums up all of Southern soul in little more than three minutes. In a barely secular sermon that addresses all of the hurt and injustice that faces a man growing up poor and black in the South, Arthur, Solomon, Ben E., Joe, and Don preach so hard they almost forget to sing...and somehow still they manage to tie it all up in a love song.

-- David Gorman

THAT'S HOW IT IS (WHEN YOU'RE IN LOVE): Otis Clay

There is soul and there is what's called deep soul. Deep soul is what you get when you peel off the skin of strings, smooth harmonies, and synchronized steps that helped black music cross over to the pop world and you're left with nothing but raw pain. It's no wonder then that as good as this song is, it never made it as a pop hit. "That's How It Is" is the kind of in-your-face suffering that nobody really wants to hear about. The second the horns kick Clay toward the mike, you're faced with a man totally destroyed, gone mad from hurt and wandering the streets begging for someone to put him out of his misery. But it's not just Otis' clawing-the-pavement delivery that makes this the musical antidote to Prozac. The lyrics ramble on like a suicide note. The band is out of tune and almost anarchic. The recording is decidedly lo-fi. The song has no real structure and seems to stumble upon the chorus accidentally. All of this adds up to the darkest, most hopeless two-and-a-half minutes you may ever experience. Otis remade "That's How It Is" a few years later for Hi Records, but the band was too tight, the production too slick, and the tempo too slow to even approach the total emotional devastation of the original. If there has ever been a song more heartbreaking, more pained, more desolate than this one, it's probably best that I've never heard it.

-- David Gorman

I WANT YOU TO HAVE EVERYTHING: Lee Rogers

I don't own a bad Lee Rogers record, and I have a lot of them. He's my own personal Howard Tate. Or James Carr. Or any one of those singers who spent their brief careers cutting brilliant records that nobody heard. Anytime I see one of his 45s for sale I grab it, and no matter what I spent, I'm never disappointed. Another Detroit singer, Lee's best cuts are on D-Town/Wheelsville Records. And while the label's name is a direct knockoff of Motown's, it's ironically one of the only soul labels in Detroit that Hitsville didn't absorb. And one of the only ones that doesn't sound just like Motown. Too church. Not just churchy, "I Want You To Have Everything" sounds like it was recorded at the Church of The Holy Soul somewhere on Linwood. After hours, of course, when the Deacon wasn't around but the choir was. And the band. Nobody plays a piano like that outside the church. Plug in that fat organ and let it kick off the song. Then add the hand claps. The call and response. The dancing in the aisles. The sweat. Maybe it was all just a little too raw to fit into Motown's crossover dream, but enough people felt the spirit to give Lee Rogers a hit and D-Town enough cash to keep it up for just a few more months.

-- David Gorman

THE FUNKY JUDGE: Bull & The Matadors

Social commentary as fatback funk. Truly an art form. A black man gets arrested and plays ig'nant to the white cop ("I didn't do it ossissiffisuh!"), but when he steps in front of the Funky Judge, it's time to break it down. "Now, listen!" They got the wrong guy. Just ask his momma. The judge gotta understand (gotta be a funky judge). But he doesn't. Because our hero's from Alabama. And this is Chicago. The judge ain't so funky after all. Not anywhere near as funky as the song. Seventeen years. Damn. That would mean that the whole time he was in Joliet State, he would be missing out on the rest of the music world catching up with what he was laying down with The Matadors.

-- David Gorman

Sam Cooke

You can't listen to soul music, talk about soul music, even think about soul music, without acknowledging Sam Cooke. The idea of putting together this box set without one of his songs practically killed us. Fact is, he was the most important artist of his time, having virtually invented soul music. Sam took gospel and made it sexy. Sam set the mood. Sam could write. Sam could produce. Sam started his own record company. His own publishing company. Took control at a time when most artists were signing contracts that almost guaranteed them a life of poverty. He discovered Bobby Womack. Lou Rawls. Billy Preston. Johnnie Taylor. But above all, he could sing. The best voice ever recorded, actually. Affected every pop music singer after him. But most people just know him for those pop hits. Not "Bring It On Home To Me." Or "That's Where It's At." Or even "A Change Is Gonna Come." Strange. The more successful Sam got with white audiences, the more soulful his music became. How many artists can say that? None. One. Sam.

-- David Gorman

YOU'RE THE BEST (THAT EVER DID IT): The Precisions

There is no soul producer who is more underappreciated than Jerry Williams Jr. (aka Swamp Dogg), a man with the ability to inspire any emotion he thinks you should feel. And if you ask him, he'll tell you that there is no vocal group more underappreciated than The Precisions. The best singers he's ever worked with, in fact. So what kind of record do you think they would make together? A stomper that jumped out of the groove and tore up your soul? A fall-down beggin' ballad that dragged your heart across the floor? Nope. They went for a place that few songs can touch. Next to grandma's cooking and old love notes. "You're The Best That Ever Did It" doesn't inspire anything more than a warm smile and a tapping foot. That comfortable feeling you get from a song that's just right. There aren't too many songs like that. They're too hard to make. And even harder to notice when someone does.

-- David Gorman

I DON'T WANT TO LOSE YOUR LOVE: The Mad Lads

Stax didn't put out too many "pretty" records. Stax was grit. Left the pretty stuff to the boys up north. But out slipped this Mad Lads 45. Sounds like everyone in the studio was wearing a tuxedo, it's so smooth. And the song actually sounds crafted. Planned. Like the Mad Lads were trying to prove that Stax could cut a vocal group using every trick they had. Great song, great singing, great playing. But it all comes together at the bridge. The Lads are locked in a long, sweet note, Al Jackson is snapping in perfect time behind them, and the gorgeous guitar line that opens the song comes back for an encore. The rest of the song is just there as a cushion so you can savor that moment and wonder why it took you so long to discover Soulsville's smoothest groove.

-- David Gorman

I'M YOUR PUPPET: James & Bobby Purify

I used to tell myself that when I had a baby I would keep the child a thousand miles away from the ridiculous sing-song crap that most infants have to endure. There's no reason a precious new life should ever be exposed to a song so banal that it can be delivered with conviction by a purple dinosaur who could have survived prehistoric evolution only by driving its predators insane. Nope, my baby's gonna have soul. Part of the training will be "I'm Your Puppet." Lyrics sweet enough to be a lullaby, complete with all the tinkering bells that seem to make kids giggle. When he (my family has a tendency towards male offspring) grows older, he'll be bobbing his head to the loping funk of the bass groove. He'll dig the off-key horn bursts and gospel trade-offs of James and Bobby. He'll unearth a record player and start looking through Dad's record collection for more. And my work here will be done.

-- David Gorman

ARE YOU LONELY FOR ME: Freddie Scott

If you collect soul records (a hobby this box set hopes to inspire) and you happen across any Freddie Scott 45s on the Shout label, buy them. They're all killers. His version of "Cry To Me" is one of the most passionate deep-soul ballads ever cut. "(You) Got What I Need" (the original version of Biz Markie's rap hit) will put blisters on your feet. Even "Hey, Girl," Freddie's hit on the otherwise soulless Colpix label, is worth whatever they're charging for it. But "Are You Lonely For Me" is the jam. It's a long ride to Jacksonville, baby, but with the band sounding like a train barreling south and that baritone sax kicking Freddie's ass down the tracks with every bar, he'll be home in no time...and you'd better be there waiting.

-- David Gorman

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