|
 |
Two conflicts racked
America during the 1960s and early 1970s. The war in Vietnam consumed thousands
of US lives and billions of dollars. It also provoked a protest movement
that nearly split the country in two, and forced a President out of office.
More importantly, perhaps, it cast America as a global villain in the eyes
of students and radicals around the world, turning the war into an international
cause celebre.
America’s other heartbreak during that tumultuous era was conÄned
to its own borders, although it had echoes around the world. Ever since
the abolition of slavery after the American Civil War in the 19th century,
the issue of race relations, and in particular discrimination against the
African-American population, have been an open sore in US society. Gradually,
inch by painful inch, black citizens had managed to win a limited amount
of freedom. But racism was still an everyday part of American life, and
as the 1960s dawned the push towards liberation and equality had gathered
unstoppable speed.
During the following decade, politicians attempted to solve the problem
with legislation, but they always reacted too slowly. America’s black
community was aflame with righteous indignation: sometimes it reacted with
impatience, other times with rage. The result was a remarkable period of
history in which the entire country was sucked into the drama of civil rights
and black power. It was the time of Martin Luther King and Malcolm X, Muhammad
Ali and James Brown, the Freedom Riders and the Black Panthers. And it was
also the golden era of a record company that became one of the largest black-owned
businesses in America: Berry Gordy’s Motown Records Corporation.
Motown never set out to be a political force; it was simply a stable of
incredible musical talent, which earned its reputation as Hitsville USA,
the Sound of Young America. But during that time of civil rights marches
and ghetto riots, liberation armies and black martyrs, all African-Americans
were inevitably sucked into the conflict. Motown Records was no exception.
Berry Gordy himself was a strong supporter of the prince of the non-violent
civil rights movement, Martin Luther King; Motown even issued several albums
of his speeches. As the racial heat increased, and Motown’s home city
of Detroit erupted into blazing riots in the summer of 1967, it became impossible
for Gordy and his artists to avoid the call of the times. Over the next
six years, Motown not only founded a subsidiary label entirely devoted to
the struggle for black power (Black Forum Records); it also allowed its
artists to comment directly on the situation of black people in contemporary
America. For the first time, you could hear the nation changing shape in
the sounds that came out of Hitsville USA.
One of the ironies of Motown’s involvement with politics and civil
rights is that a record the company had issued years earlier as a classic
summertime anthem – Martha & The Vandellas’ ‘Dancing
In The Street’ – took on a darker meaning as each summer brought
the anguish of rioting to America’s biggest and most prosperous cities.
So it was probably Ätting that Martha Reeves and her group should also have
recorded Motown’s first overt criticism of the Vietnam War. ‘I
Should Be Proud’ was not exactly a militant call to arms, but its
mixture of bereavement and bewilderment summed up the reaction of so many
black families who had lost a loved one on the senseless battlefields of
South-East Asia.
Motown’s first tentative steps towards commenting on the changing
world outside the recording studio inspired a flurry of late 60s tracks
that weren’t political, as such, but were inspired directly by current
events. David Ruffin’s ‘Flower Child’, for example, came
from the same counter-culture that was leading the protests against Vietnam.
When Diana Ross And The Supremes complained ‘I’m Living In Shame’,
they were reÅecting the deprivation of modern ghetto life. The Supremes
also recorded two slightly uncomprehending accounts of the generation and
race gaps that were opening up in American life, ‘Shadows Of Society’
and ‘The Young Folks’. The fact that Berry Gordy was allowing
his flagship act to make even the most tentative comments on politics proves
how unstoppable the thrust towards change had become.
Another taboo was broken by Bobby Taylor And The Vancouvers with their 1968
hit, ‘Does Your Mother Know About Me’. Like the Hollywood smash
‘Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner’, the song revolved around
the scenario of an inter-racial romance. (Songwriter Tommy Chong, a member
of The Vancouvers, later found fame as half of the Cheech & Chong comedy
duo.)
Two seismic events shook Motown during the summer of 1967 – one from
outside, one within. The Detroit riots caused devastation across the city,
as young black men who were impatient with the racism of the local police
department, their appalling living conditions, and the snail-like speed
of change, clashed with police for days on end. Along the way, hundreds
of buildings were destroyed by fire, scores of shops were looted, and many
people were killed. The unrest undoubtedly encouraged Berry Gordy to think
about moving the Motown headquarters to a safer location in Hollywood.
Meanwhile, Motown’s internal organization was thrown into chaos when
the label’s leading production and writing team, Holland/Dozier/Holland,
announced that they were leaving, and sued Gordy for alleged underpayment
of royalties. Into their place stepped writer/producers Norman Whitfield
and Barrett Strong (the man who wrote and recorded the R&B standard
‘Money (That’s What I Want)’ at the start of the decade).
Whitfield masterminded a new Motown sound, tougher and more rock-influenced
than the classic Holland/Dozier/Holland style. His trademarks included the
heavy use of fuzz and wah-wah guitar effects, James Brown-inspired funk
rhythms, and songs that reflected the reality of American city life at the
end of the 1960s.
Another Whitfield innovation was more controversial. Having penned some
of the hardest-hitting R&B songs of all time with Barrett Strong, he
recycled them amongst many of the Motown acts he was producing, subtly varying
the arrangements every time. As a result, artists such as The Temptations,
The Undisputed Truth and Edwin Starr often recorded the same songs. Although
contemporary reviewers complained that record buyers were being shortchanged,
in retrospect Whitfield’s methods offered a fascinating array of different
interpretations of classic material.
Many of Whitfield and Strong’s most famous and politically potent
songs are gathered on this album, but not always in their most familiar
versions. It was Edwin Starr who scored a worldwide hit with the unforgettable
‘War’, for instance, but the song was actually first recorded
by The Temptations. Both acts also recorded the equally powerful sequel,
‘Stop The War Now’, which was a smaller hit for Starr. He also
recorded a version of ‘Cloud Nine’, a controversial portrait
of psychedelic drug use which was a smash for The Temptations. As narcotics
flooded America’s ghettos at the height of the late 60s black power
movement, many activists blamed the government for trying to subdue militancy
by getting a generation hooked on heroin, giving ‘Cloud Nine’
its political edge.
Riots, war, drugs – they were just part of the landscape of ‘Ball
Of Confusion’, a Temptations hit that was revamped by Whitfield for
another of his acts, The Undisputed Truth. Their shining moment was ‘Smiling
Faces Sometimes’, a study in paranoia that struck a chord with anyone
involved in black politics, as FBI informers did their best to provoke discord
and violence between rival groups of activists. The Undisputed Truth also
recorded a medley of The Temptations’ ‘Ungena Za Ulimwengu (Unite
The World)’ and Gladys Knight & The Pips’ equally idealistic
‘Friendship Train’ – the original version of which is
included here as well, to demonstrate how widely Whitfield’s productions
could differ from one act to the next.
The Temptations were Whitfield’s most successful act, and they recorded
two of the most uncompromising statements of black power issued by Motown
in the late 60s, the Sly Stone-influenced ‘Slave’ and the self-explanatory
‘Message From A Black Man’. In the 70s, the group went through
several personnel changes but retained their musical identity. ‘Masterpiece’
reworked the style of their smash hit ‘Papa Was A Rolling Stone’
to create a stunning panorama of ghetto life, while the more concise ‘Plastic
Man’ also demonstrated Whitfield and Strong’s vein of social
commentary.
Their musical and lyrical innovations encouraged other Motown artists to
take similar risks. Nobody made better use of the new climate at Gordy’s
label than Marvin Gaye, whose ‘What’s Going On’ album
remains soul’s classic statement about the turmoil in American society
at the start of the 70s. Three tracks from those sessions are included on
this set, two of them presented in their original form before Gaye remixed
and overdubbed the tracks one last time. As the 1972 presidential election
neared with little sign of positive change, Marvin recorded the non-album
single ‘You’re The Man’, a sardonic look at the emptiness
of the candidates’ political promises.
His torch was carried on by Willie Hutch, who followed Marvin into the territory
of blaxploitation soundtracks for films such as ‘The Mack’ and
‘Foxy Brown’. Sadly under-rated as an artist and songwriter,
Hutch captured the black street experience of the early 70s on tracks such
as ‘Life’s No Fun Living In The Ghetto’ and ‘Brother’s
Gonna Work It Out’. By now the new mood of social questioning had
touched the entire Motown roster of artists. R&B saxman Junior Walker
recorded his own black power anthem, ‘Right On Brothers And Sisters’,
while former Temptations frontman Eddie Kendricks cut the more desperate
‘My People... Hold On’. Reuben Howell, one of the lost voices
of Motown during the early 70s, tapped into a similar vein with ‘Help
The People’. Stevie Wonder collaborated with his wife, Syreeta Wright,
on two magnificent albums during this period – and a highlight of
her debut LP was ‘Black Maybe’, a questioning look at the long
history of African-Americans’ struggle to survive.
That struggle continues to this day, but by the mid-70s it was possible
at last to recognise the advances that had been made on civil rights issues
over the previous decade. Poverty remained a fact of life for many African-Americans,
of course, and it was the unlikely figure of Smokey Robinson – usually
a chronicler of romance, not social issues – who recorded Motown’s
most affecting study of ghetto deprivation. ‘Just My Soul Responding’
cleverly linked the African-American experience to the treatment of American
Indians a century earlier. Times were changing, however, and no track on
this album illustrates that fact better – in musical and political
terms – than The Miracles’ playful ‘Ain’t Nobody
Straight In LA’. Taken from their ‘City Of Angels’ concept
album, it’s an exercise in dance music rather than funk, and it wouldn’t
necessarily pass all the political correctness tests today. But it marks
the end of a radical decade in which America’s most important black-owned
label slowly came to terms with the growing militancy of the African-American
community, and helped to shape its attitudes with soul music that remains
as powerful today as it was more than thirty years ago.
Peter Doggett |