Video From The Vault: Ray Charles, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Fats Domino

Shot at Storyville nightclub in New Orleans in 1986, here are three titans of rock 'n' roll piano throwing down for one very lucky crowd. Yes, that's Ronnie Wood in the band, playing guitar, and the ubiquitous Paul Shaffer is on hand as well, apparently in the role of head cheerleader. Hey, not bad work if you can get it!

This was originally available on the long out-of-print video, Super Sessions Live: Fats Domino & Friends, but has since been retitled and repackaged in convenient DVD format. From Fats & Friends, here's Brother Ray, The Killer, and The Fat Man kicking our collective ass with "The Lewis Boogie," "Low Down Dog," and Hank Williams' cajun anthem, "Jambalaya." It's footage like this that reminds me why God invented YouTube. Word.



ADIOS FOLLOW-UP: INTERVIEW & REHEARSAL

Since linking to the video above, I actually purchased Fats & Friends. Is it as good as I expected? Of course it is. Among the DVD extras is this interview with Paul Shaffer, who discusses the rehearsal and arrangement for "Jambalaya." Pure gold.

Clarence White: Drug Store Truck Drivin' Men: 1968-69 (Part 5)

It's been a few weeks since the last installment of the Clarence White Chronicles, so here's a capsule review of events from the summer of 1968:

The Byrds played South Africa in July without Gram Parsons, who decided that shooting smack with Keith Richards was better than playing segregated Johannesburg, so he essentially fired himself. While GP's political motives were undoubtedly more expedient than heartfelt, to his credit he flew the coop on a tour that was, by all accounts, "Custer-esque." Back on home turf ... and without the motivating force behind their just-released album, Sweetheart Of The Rodeo ... Roger McGuinn and Chris Hillman recruited Clarence White into The Byrds, then fired drummer, Kevin Kelley, and replaced him with White's former mate in The Reasons, Gene Parsons. Hillman then reconciled with Gram, left The Byrds, and formed the Flying Burrito Brothers. GP and Hillman then asked White and Gene Parsons (no relation) to join the Burritos, but the new Byrds, upon deeper reflection, decided to remain new Byrds. Are you getting all this?!?! We're having a quiz at the end of the post, so I hope you took notes. Anyway, with Hillman now an ex-Byrd, McGuinn and White brought in John York to play bass. Here's Gene and John recollecting about this turn of events.



With York's hire in late summer, the cavalcade of personnel turnover came to a merciful end. On September 28, the McGuinn-White-York-Parsons version of The Byrds debuted on, of all things, Hugh Hefner's Playboy After Dark TV show, performing "You Ain't Goin' Nowhere" and "This Wheel's On Fire," another Bob Dylan song demoed with The Band in Woodstock and no doubt heard that year on The Band's debut, Music From Big Pink. Not only was this one of the first shows for the post-Hillman Byrds lineup*, it's the first documented performance, to my knowledge, of Clarence playing his StringBender, which you can hear him work to great effect at the beginning of "Nowhere." I'm reasonably certain this was also the only gig in the band's career in which scantily clad go-go dancing and brandy snifters figured prominently. So you wanna be a rock 'n' roll star, indeed!

* Clarence's first gig with The Byrds was on August 4th at the Newport Pop Festival in Costa Mesa, California. In fact, the picture that leads off this post comes from that gig.

BYRDS - "YOU AIN'T GOIN' NOWHERE" - PLAYBOY AFTER DARK



BYRDS - "THIS WHEEL'S ON FIRE" - PLAYBOY AFTER DARK



While Clarence's guitar work is characteristically brilliant, his playing during the Genghis Khan verse of "You Ain't Goin' Nowhere" is subtly spectacular. I also love his playing on "Wheel's," especially in the solo (2:09-2:42), because it's almost like he's arc welding space-rock guitar effects on top of bluegrass picking. More on this in a bit. "Wheel's" also shows why enlisting the services of Gene Parsons was a wise decision. He and Clarence were both able to play around the beat and melody, but because of their peculiar telepathy ... no doubt earned after hundreds of hours playing together ... they rarely stepped on each other's toes.

AN ALL-NIGHT MUSICIAN IN A ROCK 'N' ROLL BAND

A few weeks after the Playboy shoot, The Byrds returned to the studio to lay down tracks for their new album, Dr. Byrds and Mr. Hyde. In the producer's chair was Bob Johnston, whose resume at the time included Bob Dylan's Highway 61 Revisited, Blonde On Blonde, and John Wesley Harding as well as Johnny Cash's Live At Folsom Prison record. Needless to say, The Byrds were geeked for the sessions. Unfortunately, when the album was finally released in February 1969, it would prove to be a commercial, critical, and even intra-band disappointment.

Sales aside ... mainly because I'm not sure there's much connection between good sales and high quality ... the perception of disappointment is revealing. For four decades now, critics have heaped abuse on this album as if it were a collection of duck farts and whale songs. At best, it gets a kind of backhanded praise, as if it was some sort of achievement that the record didn't totally suck. Sure, "Child Of The Universe" is pure filler, the closing medley is nothing special, and the loss of Chris Hillman's songwriting, harmonies, and ear for melody is undeniable. But, even taking all these demerits into account, Dr. Byrds wasn't much different than any other Byrds album to date: There's a few great songs, some good songs, an instrumental, and a couple of whiffs. Why single this LP out? Also, Hillman's instrumental prowess notwithstanding, John York was a killer bass player and the upgrade at guitar and drums was substantial. As a working unit, this incarnation of The Byrds was miles ahead of any previous ensemble. How does that not figure into the critical equation?

If there is a villain in the Dr. Byrds saga, someone whose potential wasn't matched by his performance, it's Bob Johnston (pictured left with Johnny Cash). His impressive credentials aside, the greatness of those Dylan and Cash records is their decided lack of production. Those albums didn't need anything more than the dry sound typical of a stripped-down country band. His job was essentially mic placement, maybe a little EQ, and hitting the 'Record' button. The Byrds, by contrast, offered some unique challenges. They had multiple vocal parts, including three and four-part harmonies, counterpoint guitar parts, and enough layering and overdubbing that the producer needed to be attentive, if not totally hands-on. But alas, as Gene explains in the video below, that producer was nowhere in evidence. Not only that, Johnston's final mix was painfully unsympathetic. I think Byrdwatcher hits the nail on the head regarding the original album's sound: "None of the eight Byrds reissues has benefitted from remastering more than Dr. Byrds & Mr. Hyde. In its original version, the murky production of Bob Johnston obscured many of the new band's strengths. The whole album was a muddled mess; the reverb was so thick that even the acoustic songs sounded like they had been recorded in a tub of goo. The band members themselves expressed disappointment with the album's sound, blaming Johnston's laissez-faire production style." Indeed they did. From the DVD, Under Review, here's a video overview of Dr. Byrds with Gene Parsons and John York expressing their intentions going in and their disappointments coming out.



Leaving aside sales, the original album's production values, and the lukewarm critical reception, Dr. Byrds ... especially in its remastered form ... is a strong, if flawed, document of a band entering its latest phase, led by new guitar player and rhythmic focalpoint, Clarence White. Let's focus on a few of the album's high points.

Byrds - Your Gentle Way Of Loving Me [purchase]

Gib & Gene (The Reasons) - Your Gentle Way Of Loving Me [purchase]

This unassuming country cover is a quietly significant chapter in the Clarence White Chronicles. As it happens, "Gentle Way" was a Bakersfield International single for Gib Guilbeau and Gene Parsons only a year earlier, co-written by Gib and Gary S. Paxton, and featuring The Reasons as backing band. Like "Nashville West," which also appears on Dr. Byrds, the song functions as an implicit homage to the nearly two years of intense camaraderie forged by The Reasons, when they were studio and road warriors through many "late evening hours." And on a purely mercenary level, it was a financial boon in the form of publishing credits. If there were lingering doubts about leaving The Reasons, the Dr. Byrds sessions should've quelled any misgivings. Like I said last time, Clarence and Gene were gonna be playing "Nashville West" and "Gentle Way" regardless. By doing so in the context of The Byrds they were getting paid decent money and allowed input into fundamental artistic decisions. This was emphatically true in Clarence's case, as the new rhythm section was assembled largely upon his recommendation.



I've included the Gib & Gene version of "Gentle Way" for compare-and-contrast purposes. Ironically, while Gib & Gene were at heart a no-frills country act, it's The Byrds that really accentuate the song's country flavor. In fact, Paxton's production gives the G&G track a kind of folk-pop flavor, as if Glen Campbell were being produced by Phil Spector. Meanwhile, The Byrds' version is almost textbook country-rock, if not simply straight-up country. Clarence clearly benefits from the remastering on Dr. Byrds, as his superlative StringBender work, panned hard right, is far higher in the mix than on the Paxton version, where his acoustic picking is buried. It's also interesting to compare Gene's harmonica playing. Where his playing with Gib is more train-like, his playing on Dr. Byrds, panned hard right, is almost a second lead part meant to complement Clarence's picking. Both versions also feature Paxton's beloved fuzztone guitar, so I'm pretty sure that's White in the coda of The Byrds' version.

Byrds - Drug Store Truck Drivin' Man [purchase]

"He's been like a father to me,
He's the only DJ you can hear after three,
I'm an all night musician in a rock 'n' roll band,
And why he don't like me I can't understand."

This McGuinn/Gram Parsons co-write was inspired by the band's 1968 visit to Nashville, where they received contemptuous on-air treatment from hallowed Nashville disc jockey, Ralph Emery. Mr. Emery didn't truck with no damn hip-eyes toying with his beloved country music ... let alone playing the Grand Ole Opry (pictured above), my god! ... and he damn well let them know he didn't approve, no sir. This open-faced suspicion no doubt fuels this masterwork of satire and sarcasm that, to these ears, stands up against any country song from this era. While my first inclination is to compare the song's byrd-flipping sentiment to a Dylan song like "Positively 4th Street," I think Byrdwatcher makes an apt comparison: "The song's broad humor is reminiscent of the work of Ray Davies -- not the subtle wit that characterized his more sympathetic character sketches in the late '60s, but the heavy-handed mockery in early Kinks songs like 'Well Respected Man' and 'Dedicated Follower of Fashion.'" Word.

Musically, "Drug Store" is pretty much a straight country waltz, with Nashville steel ace, Lloyd Green, in the left channel, and Clarence White's steel-esque StringBender in the right. York mostly plays the bass parts close to the vest, but there's a few nice McCartney-esque swoops (2:42, 3:22, 3:36). And while McGuinn often gets criticized for the ironic detachment of his country singing, his singing on "Drug Store," including the high tenor part where he's harmonizing with himself, totally works for me. I think the personal nature of the material helps. Where it's safe to say he probably didn't feel "The Christian Life" in his bones, his dislike for Ralph Emery ... or, at least profound displeasure at the way he was treated ... comes through. Hey, if bitter resignation ain't a hallmark of country music, I don't know what is!

SESSION MAN ... AGAIN

The basic tracks for Dr. Byrds were cut during a handful of October and December sessions. In between, Clarence sat in with some familiar faces.

Wynn Stewart - Run Away [purchase]

On October 10, White recorded three songs with Wynn Stewart, two of which would appear on Stewart's 1969 Let The Whole World Sing It With Me LP. One of those, "Run Away," is a textbook two-step, written and arranged with the dance floor in mind, and the kind of throwback honky-tonk song that established Bakersfield as the original "Nashville West." The song is distinguished by the great interplay between Clarence and Ralph Mooney, Wynn's longtime steel guitarist, one of the creators of the Bakersfield Sound, and part-time player with Buck Owens, Merle Haggard, and Waylon Jennings. The White-Mooney exchanges between :45-1:14 are a high point, but throughout the song they showcase their impeccable sidemen credentials, accenting and coloring with respect for each other's space and always in service to the song.

The Reasons - Louisiana Woman [purchase]

Late in the year, The Byrds' rhythm section hooked up with Gib Guilbeau, in what basically amounted to a reunion of The Reasons (with York replacing Wayne Moore). In fact, depending upon your perspective, it was also an alternative version of The Byrds, with Guilbeau in the McGuinn role. John York recalls, "I remember doing some sessions with Clarence White, Gene Parsons, and Gib Guilbeau in a studio in Hollywood in late 1968. On the north side of a group of offices called 'Crossroads Of The World' on Sunset Boulevard. The song that sticks in my mind was called 'Louisiana Woman.' There were others that I don't recall at the moment." As it happens, the studio York mentions actually refers to Darrell Cotton's Ion Records, the same place where a couple years earlier Clarence met Gib and Gene during Darrell's "Don't Pity Me" sessions. You may recall this from the beginning of my Clarence White and the Rise of Nashville West: 1966-67 post.

"Louisiana Woman" could've easily fit on any Byrds album between Dr. Byrds and Untitled -- which we'll get to in a few weeks. A laid-back, almost textbook country-rock song, it's distinguished by CW's StringBender riff and forms a nice companion piece to Ballad Of Easy Rider's "Tulsa County" in form and Untitled's "Lover On The Bayou" in cajun-centrism.

THIS WHEEL SHALL EXPLODE

Byrds - This Wheel's On Fire [Version One] [purchase]

If songs like "Gentle Way" and "Drug Store" ... not to mention "Old Blue" and "Nashville West" ... represented the album's Dr. Byrds, it was songs like "Wheel's" that represented its Mr. Hyde. Conceptually, the idea made sense. Sweetheart was a country album, Clarence White and Gene Parsons were excellent country players, and on a fundamental level, they'd cast their lot with country and it was too late to back out now. On the other hand, The Byrds cut their teeth on rock music. Folk-rock, psychedelic-rock, country-rock, and yes, space-rock were all part of the band's colorful history and there was no reason to alienate their fanbase by moving away from that foundation. So, Dr. Byrds & Mr. Hyde was a self-conscious acknowledgment of the band's bipolarity and it was borne out in the packaging, which included photos of the band as both cowboys (Dr. Byrds) and spacemen (Mr. Hyde).

In this context, I think no song better reflects the Hyde portion of their personality better than "This Wheel's On Fire," sonic kin to some of Creedence's (pictured right) heaviest, swampiest material circa 1968-69 ("I Put A Spell On You," "Born On The Bayou," "Keep On Chooglin'"). If The Byrds are to be faulted for anything, it's that they chose the weaker, slower version of the song to leadoff the album. The first version is leaner, has a clearer separation of instruments, and McGuinn doesn't sound like he's fighting a cold. But the difference-maker in Version One is Clarence White, especially in tandem with York, whose whiplash basslines work perfectly with Clarence's guitar to give the song a swirling, moody tension. There's two guitar parts, with White obviously in the right channel, and another, heavily-reverbed guitar in the left that could either be McGuinn or White. I suspect it's McGuinn for no other reason than it doesn't have any of Clarence's hallmark stylings.

Regardless, as with the Playboy filming, White's right-channel playing is the perfect synthesis of Byrds and Hyde, of space and cowboy, of country and rock. His picking features the syncopation and behind-the-beat phrasing that was a cornerstone of his electric playing from the start, but had its roots in bluegrass with The Kentucky Colonels. And while he's playing through a fuzzbox like many rock guitarists, the development of the StringBender added a totally unique pedal steel dimension to his playing. Its effect is apparent throughout "Wheel's", especially from 1:33 on, and in the solo from 1:56-2:10. In a sense, the creation of the StringBender merely accentuated White's tendency to work around a song's basic rhythm, playing with dynamics even more dramatically than he did before, giving him greater melodic and harmonic freedom. This is why early on in the Chronicles I compared Clarence to bebop icons, Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie, though I could have also compared him to guitar innovator, Charlie Christian. Dig this passage about Christian in Wikipedia:

"(Charlie) Christian commonly emphasized weak beats and off beats, and ... experimented with asymmetrical phrasing, which was to become a core element of the new bop style. Swing (pre-bop) improvisation was commonly constructed in two or four bar phrases that corresponded to the harmonic cadences of the underlying song form. Bop improvisers would often deploy phrases over an odd number of bars, and overlap their phrases across bar lines and across major harmonic cadences. Such new rhythmic phrasing techniques give the typical bop solo a feeling of floating free over the underlying song form, rather than being tied into the song form."
--From Wikipedia, "Bebop History"

If Clarence's country-rock bebop was hinted at in his recorded output, it was astonishingly evident on stage. So, when The Byrds finally hit the road in late January 1969 ... about a week before the release of Dr. Byrds & Mr. Hyde ... CW's live prowess quickly grew in legend and guitarists everywhere soon joined the Clarence White Fan Club. Here's John York commenting on this hilarious, if understandable, phenomenon.



LEAVING FOR THE COUNTRY TO TRY AND REST MY HEAD

"The greatest thing about Clarence was that he never played anything that sounded vaguely weak or like a mistake. He was always driving -- INTO the music -- and that pulled the whole band up. He had that conservative thing from bluegrass, where you underplay it on stage, where everybody pokerfaces it. He would do these truly outrageous things on guitar, but hardly move a muscle, aside from his hands. But, he was very conscious of his showmanship. He was evolving into his own kind of Jimi Hendrix flamboyance."
--Roger McGuinn, from the Live At The Fillmore West liner notes

On February 6, The Byrds pulled into San Francisco for a four-night stand at Fillmore West. They didn't realize it then, but they were embarking on what would turn about to be an almost uninterrupted 3 1/2 year tour of clubs, ballrooms, concert halls, armories, field houses, high schools, colleges, and festivals in most of the continental United States, Canada, and Europe. Their transformation from innovative studio band into rode-hard touring band was a remarkable act of artistic redefinition, one which has been almost universally ignored by rock historians. Read their biography in All Music Guide or Wikipedia and you'll have zero idea that beginning in early '69, The Byrds were a live band first and foremost. If anything, you get AMG's casual dismissal of anything post-Sweetheart Of The Rodeo: "Although McGuinn kept the Byrds going for about another five years with other musicians (most notably former country picker Clarence White), essentially the Byrds name was a front for Roger McGuinn and backing band."

Granted, the setlists weren't varied all that much from night to night and even at their best, it wasn't like anyone would mistake The Byrds for high-wire acts like The Who, MC5, or hell, Jerry Lee Lewis. But, the band was doing their formidable catalog justice, evolving into a tight-knit working unit, and besides, it wasn't like Merle Haggard and George Jones were playing guitars with their teeth and knocking over drumkits. Cut these dudes some slack!

Byrds - You're Still On My Mind [purchase]

Byrds - Close Up The Honky Tonks [purchase]

Byrds - Buckaroo [purchase]

Take away Clarence White's explosions of inventiveness and The Byrds sound like any number of country outfits playing the southern California honky-tonk circuit in 1969. However, when you factor in White on StringBender ... let alone McGuinn on 12-string ... you have one of the finest distillations of country tradition meeting rock futurism ever committed to tape. There's CW's fearless solo in "You're Still On My Mind" (:37-1:10), his elastic command of the space-time continuum in "Close Up The Honky Tonks" (1:10-1:41), and the wild chicken pickin', quirky accents, and syncopation throughout "Buckaroo," including the trusty old nut pull (1:30). Also, if you recall my previous CW Chronicles post, the idea of the StringBender was hatched at the Sanland Brothers' session for "Vaccination Of The Blues." Clarence actually plays that song's staccato intro riff at 1:40.

Byrds - King Apathy III [purchase]

To address the band's binary tendencies in one fell swoop ... i.e. Byrds and Hyde ... here's a Dr. Byrds song that masterfully mixes 4/4 rock verses with 2/4 country bridges, similar to "Change Is Now" from Notorious Byrd Brothers. I like David Fricke's description of Clarence's intro in the Fillmore West liner notes as "an opening slalom break lightly ringed with distortion." "Slalom break" is a vivid description of so many CW guitar parts, and it's probably not a coincidence that it echoes Wikipedia's description of the typical bop solo as "a feeling of floating free over the underlying song form." Needless to say, White's floating, slaloming, and applause-inducing solo from 1:27-1:57 is one of the album's many Clarence White highlights.

Byrds - Eight Miles High [excerpt] [purchase]

This song was famously inspired by John Coltrane's modal jazz piece, "India," which was itself inspired by the saxophonist's earlier work with Miles Davis. According to modaljazz.com, "(Modal jazz) improvisations are based on individual scales or modes rather than on the overall key of a piece. The result is a song that contains fewer chord changes and allows more time and freedom for melodic improvisation. In essence, it's about a return to melody." While the "Eight Miles High" medley on Fillmore West is almost 10 minutes long and there's really no need to occupy that much cyberspace, this 1:29 excerpt distills the essence of its greatness. With McGuinn's 12-string improvising around the song's main riff in the right channel, Clarence hypnotically riffs in the left channel, until unleashing a firestorm of a solo at the :44 mark. When McGuinn says that White "was evolving into his own kind of Jimi Hendrix flamboyance," his playing on "Eight Miles High" had to be what he had in mind. If Hendrix was taking chitlin circuit R&B to Neptune, Clarence White was bringing the Bakersfield Sound to Mars.

NEXT TIME: EASY RIDING IN '69

Next time in the CW Chronicles, we'll finish out 1969, including work on Ballad Of Easy Rider, more touring, a gig with some special friends, and much more session work.

Norman Whitfield: Ten to Tempt

Greetings once again from The Adios Lounge! For those of you wondering where I was, well, occasionally one has to take a mental vacation for some rest, relaxation, and rechargification. It was nice to play in the sand, but the Lounge is a stern mistress, so here we are.

When we last commiserated, I was bemoaning the loss of longtime Motown Records songwriter and producer, Norman Whitfield (pictured left), who died last month. My original plan was to pay homage to his legendary career. However, after a lengthy interior monologue I realized that without The Temptations there would be no Whitfield. And Whitfield's impact on the Temps was equally profound. It's no coincidence that their artistic peak paralleled his artistic peak, so thus it is that I come to celebrate not one, but two careers.

TEN GREAT MOMENTS FROM NORMAN WHITFIELD & THE TEMPTATIONS

Please note that it doesn't say "best" or "greatest." My plan is not to rank the ten best songs from the Whitfield/Temps marriage, let alone offer up something as predictable as a "Greatest Hits." If you want that, there are plenty of collections from which to choose. What I want to do is offer a 10-song snapshot that, taken together, demonstrate the depth and breadth of a producer-artist association with few peers. This, despite the lack of such heavyweight tracks as "(I Know) I'm Losing You," "Cloud Nine," "Psychedelic Shack," "Ball Of Confusion," and "Just My Imagination." The hell you say? Sure, each of those is a landmark recording, I wouldn't argue otherwise. But, if you've been a Lounge Lizard for any length of time, you'll know that I like to mix in the deep cuts with the tried and true. Suffice to say, when all is said and done, you just may be tempted to dig deeper in the group's catalog. That's right, I said tempted.

1. Ain't Too Proud To Beg (1966)

The track that kickstarted the marriage of Norman Whitfield and The Temptations. As the story goes, in 1966, company policy at Motown was that the producer with the biggest hits on an artist became the main producer for that artist. They were also given preference with regard to the release of singles. Smokey Robinson's stellar track record producing the Temps meant that his production of "Get Ready" was released before Whitfield's "Ain't Too Proud To Beg." While both songs topped the R&B charts, "Get Ready" stalled on the pop charts at #29, with "Ain't Too Proud To Beg" jumping all the way to #13. While Berry Gordy, Jr. wasn't quite ready to hand over the keys to Norman Whitfield, he let him take the group on a few test drives. Four consecutive top ten singles later, The Temps were Whitfield's full-time.

You could make a case that "Ain't Too Proud To Beg" is the best Temptations song of all-time. It's certainly the group's gateway track, introducing a roughness to their sound that would be evident from that point forward. David Ruffin (pictured left) was already a very good singer, but Whitfield's decision to have him sing slightly out of his range was a masterstroke. His pleading vocal isn't just good, it's James Brown/Otis Redding great. Meanwhile, perfect accompaniment is provided by the aptly named Funk Brothers, especially the core rhythm section of drummer, Uriel Jones, bassist, James Jamerson, and percussionist, Eddie "Bongo" Brown.

2. (Loneliness Made Me Realize) It's You That I Need (1967)

This one's now kind of obscure, but it was almost as big a hit single as "Ain't Too Proud To Beg" (#3 R&B; #14 pop). Led by Jamerson's slinky bassline, Ruffin and the Temps brilliantly weave their voices around and on top of a wonderfully orchestrated melody. The song actually sounds like something The Four Tops might've done. The traded vocals in the final verse, especially Eddie Kendricks' falsetto, are why I love this group. A totally underrated gem in the Temps' catalog.

3. He Who Picks A Rose (1968)

Speaking of underrated, this burner is buried in the grooves of the Wish It Would Rain LP and that's too bad. Ruffin gets after it, no doubt pushed hard by the band, especially the drummer (probably Uriel Jones, but possibly longtime Funk Brother, Benny Benjamin). Jamerson shines as usual, "Bongo" Brown provides great conga work, there's great slashing guitar throughout (probably by Joe Messina), and you gotta love the sax swells and trumpet squeals.

As for the Temps, they basically function, as they often did, as the vocal equivalent of a horn section. Ruffin's lead vocals are spectacular ... especially when he jumps up to falsetto on "HE WHO" in the chorus ... but Ruffin, Kendricks (2nd from left), Paul Williams (far right), Otis Williams (no relation; 2nd from right), and down-low bass singer, Melvin Franklin (far left) layer their harmonies with such effortless and funky brilliance, it's almost like listening to the interplay of a top shelf second line New Orleans marching band. More on this in a bit.

4. I Wish It Would Rain (1967)

An absolute classic, this has so many touches that work perfectly: Ruffin's tortured vocal, especially when he goes falsetto on "Eases the pain"; the seagull and shoreline sound effects at the beginning and the claps of thunder at the end; "Such a lovely day!"; the way the backup vocals weave together with the orchestration; the way the vocals bounce off each other at "No one will ever know that I'm crying, crying"; the way the drummer rolls on his hi-hat to mimic the sound of rain and then adds snare cracks beginning with the third verse ("Day in, day out, my tear-stained face [POP POP]"); and the "Let it rain, ooh, ooh" vocals on the outro. Perfection.

Here's an awesome video from The Hollywood Palace, probably early 1968. Awesome because they're not lip-synching, but also because you get to see the 4-headed mic that Kendricks, Franklin, and the Williams boys used to such great effect. Oh yeah, and you get choreography. What else do you need???



5. Runaway Child, Running Wild (1969)

1968 saw a tectonic shift in The Temptations as an increasingly erratic and (surprise, surprise) cocaine-addicted, David Ruffin, would be replaced by former Contour ("Do You Love Me"), Dennis Edwards. While Edwards was no Ruffin, that's only because Ruffin was one of the greatest soul singers ever. But Edwards was a great gospel shouter and a perfect fit for the group, both vocally and professionally. 1968 was also important because it was early in that year that Sly And The Family Stone broke through the mainstream with their first hit, "Dance To The Music." Dubbed "psychedelic soul" by the music press, Sly showed Whitfield a way out of Berry Gordy's "teenage symphony" comfort zone.

Sly And The Family Stone - Dance To The Music excerpt

Note: The Sylvester Stewart legal defense team has removed this mp3. Contact me by email and I can hit you with this choice clip backchannel.

Whitfield's genius was that he did listen to the voices. He recognized that the Sly Stone philosophy was essentially "e pluribus unum." From many, one. Stylistically, they were a throwback to Dixieland jazz bands, the way the various singers and instruments integrated their polyphony toward a common purpose, usually the main melody. Whitfield knew that he could adapt the Sly Stone formula to his own purposes because he already had five of the best singers in the business, ones who already worked together like a veteran horn section. However, he also made the bold move of updating the group's sound, moving the Temps from the audio equivalent of the suburbs ... i.e. the "Motown Sound" that had proven so successful, but was now verging on at least partial irrelevance ... to a hip brownstone uptown. While the Temps never completely left behind "My Girl," that girl now had an afro and listened to Parliment-Funkadelic.

"Runaway Child, Running Wild" was the second single from the Cloud Nine LP, but it's the 9 1/2 minute album version that really turned my head around on The Temptations. In terms of lyrical content, it was rarified territory. Years before Soul Asylum would hit with a song about runaways, the Temps tackled the subject, and did so with exponentially darker results. Musically, "Runaway Child" is all about the slow, creeping build, almost cinematic in its resolution. Earl Van Dyke's organ playing is particularly haunting, with the guitars of Messina and wah-wah master, Dennis Coffey, playing off each other in a way that mirrors the counterpoint vocals. In fact, this was the first Temptations song to have no proper lead singer, featuring instead traded vocal lines in Whitfield's brilliant distillation of the Sly Stone philosophy. And when you hear Eddie Kendricks' voice float in at the 8:50 mark, ethereally chanting, "Oh wah hey, ah oh wah hey," that's the aforementioned P-Funk influence rearing its head. The irony there is that a few years earlier, George Clinton actually moved to Detroit in order to audition (unsuccessfully) for Motown as leader of The Parliaments.

Funkadelic - Music For My Mother excerpt

6. I Can't Get Next To You (1969)

A hit in the summer of '69, the Temps again feature traded vocals instead of a single lead singer. Also, while ostensibly a love song, "I Can't Get Next To You" features boasting in the verses that clearly anticipate the self-congratulation so prevalent in hip-hop a couple decades hence:

Dennis Edwards: "I can fly like a bird in the sky."
Eddie Kendricks: "Hey, and I can buy anything that money can buy."
Paul Williams: "I can turn a river into a raging fire."
Melvin Franklin: "I can live forever if I so desire."
Eddie Kendricks: "Unimportant all these things I can do, 'cause I can't get next to you, no matter what I do."

As a bonus, here's the acapella version of the above verse:

I Can't Get Next To You acapella excerpt



7. Don't Let The Joneses Get You Down (1969)

8. Message From A Black Man (1969)

I'm lumping together 7 and 8 because they both come from my favorite Temptations record, Puzzle People, and feature the kind of socially conscious lyrics that were hallmarks of this era of the group. "Joneses" is a screed against materialism and jealousy that, musically speaking, is straight outta the funky James Brown playbook. "Message From A Black Man" also references JB, specifically his hit from the previous year, "Say It Loud - I'm Black And I'm Proud." While the slow groove is more reminiscent of P-Funk, the themes of black pride and racial equality in the lyrics explicitly nod to JB. The song also features a great Eddie Kendricks lead vocal, especially in contrast to Melvin Franklin's "voice of God" basso profondo. Seriously, how can you not love it when he intones, "Yes, your skin is white. Does that make you right?"

FYI, I don't own Puzzle People on CD, so the clicks and pops you hear are by-products of me having to convert my vinyl to digital. That's the sound of analog, folks.

9. Hey Jude (1969)

"Take a sad song and make it better."

Another track from Puzzle People and, in my opinion, a total sleeper in the group's catalog. It's nearly impossible for any artist to cover a song so readily identified with a specific act and make it their own. When that act is the biggest band ever, fuggedaboutit. But, that's exactly what Whitfield and the Temptations do right from the start. The first :20 features a cacophony of boogie-woogie piano, distorted guitar, martial snare rolls, tamborine, and celeste. Even when the vocals come in, it's a deft combination of the group's now-familiar lead vocal trading and subtle harmony parts. Like the original, this one builds to the singalong climax, but the Temps take Jude to church. The interplay of vocals, horns, and multiple electric guitar parts on the outro is masterful, both in terms of arrangement and production. While it may be accidental, the Temps also pay homage to the Fabs when they namecheck their own songs ("Runaway Child, Running Wild" and "Don't Let The Joneses Get You Down"). If you'll recall, during the coda of "All You Need Is Love," John sings a snippet of "She Loves You." Clever, those Temps.

10. Papa Was A Rollin' Stone (1972)

Despite a number of obscurities on this list, it's bookended by a pair of classics, "Ain't Too Proud To Beg" up front and on the back end, the leanest, funkiest track to ever emerge from Motown Records. "Papa Was A Rollin' Stone" is arguably The Temptations' masterpiece, one of the Funk Brothers' finest showcases, the final collaboration between Whitfield and longtime songwriting partner, Barrett Strong (pictured right w/Whitfield), and the weird thing is, there's really not a whole lot to it. It's like Spector kryptonite and I say that, not critically, but with the highest praise possible. Think about it ... there's that memorable three-note bassline, a prominent hi-hat figure, some wah-wah guitar chank, another guitar picking around the melody, trumpet giving way to harp giving way to swells of strings, syncopated hand clapping, and The Temptations. I defy you to find another track that does less-is-more better than this. In fact, listen to this song a few times and you'll be amazed at the sheer amount of space between the notes. Of course, if you listen to it a few times, you'll only wanna listen to it a few more times. Good luck with that. (For the record, in terms of Motown releases, I think "Superstition" is just as funky as "Papa," but nowhere near as stripped-down).

"Papa" would herald the end of the Whitfield/Temptations dynasty. Whitfield left Motown the following year and enjoyed a brief renaissance in 1976 when Rose Royce rode his Car Wash soundtrack to phat city. Unfortunately, commercial relevance pretty much stopped there for Whitfield. But, with his recent passing, perhaps its time to reassess not only his legacy, but The Temptations as well. Both producer and artist had hits without the other, but there's no question that they produced their best work together. To Whitfield's eternal credit, he was smart enough to recognize the formidable vocal range of the group and he wrote (or co-wrote) songs with those voices in mind. He was also smart enough to know that the songs he wrote and the arrangements he envisioned could be reproduced by the ungodly talented Funk Brothers. In some ways, Whitfield's greatest legacy was simply getting the most out of the available talent. However, the fact that one guy was the brains behind a lean, funky machine like "Papa Is A Rollin' Stone" AND a sprawling epic like "Runaway Child, Running Wild" AND a punchy, 2 1/2 minute oldie but goodie like "Ain't Too Proud To Beg" is a testament to big picture vision and bona fide artistic genius. I don't think it's overstatement to say that The Temptations' six-year peak run, from 1966-72, stands with the best six-year run of any artist in the history of R&B/soul music ... if not across all musical genres ... and Norman Whitfield is largely responsible for that run. Maybe this is another post, but who else is in that discussion?

Here's a final look at The Temps during their glory days. From 1969, this is "I Can't Get Next To You," which may be lip-synched, but features some sweet-ass choreography and the full force of their respective personalities shining through.



COMING SOON

The Clarence White Chronicles continue, with CW taking flight on Byrd time and via more memorable session work. Also, a new Clarence release has been made available and I'll have details about that, including a couple teaser tracks to get you all kinds of fired up. Until then, get yourself Tempted.