Jesse Stone’s “Shake, Rattle & Roll” had been around the block several times before young soul singer Arthur Conley, hot off his 1967 blockbuster “Sweet Soul Music,” jumped onboard later that year and made it a hit all over again. The Georgia-born Otis Redding protégé may have been familiar with blues shouter Big Joe Turner’s supremely earthy Atlantic original, a ’54 R&B chart-topper, which spawned a cleaned-up cover by Bill Haley & His Comets and a blistering Elvis treatment. But Conley’s main inspiration was clearly a subsequent rendition by Sam Cooke; he and Otis were both huge fans. Cut in Muscle Shoals with Redding producing, Arthur’s pile-driving revival opens with a startling horn blast that leads into a sturdy walking bassline. Conley’s elastic, melismatic vocal channels Cooke, the boisterous call-and-response action enlivening the venerable R&B chestnut like it was written for no one else.
One of the unsung heroes of Stax Records throughout the 1960s and into the next decade, William Bell’s assured, eminently soulful pipes could charm the birds right out of the trees and knocked many a lady off her feet. The doo-wop-trained Memphis native waxed one of the label’s seminal early releases with his spine-chilling original “You Don’t Miss Your Water,” its meager 1962 chart placement by no means indicative of its massive Southern soul appeal. Bell came back with another stunner, the mini-soap opera “Any Other Way.” He runs into a two-faced friend on the street who’s checking up on him for his ex-girlfriend’s amusement, but Bell’s too proud to admit he’s heartbroken. So he tells the cad to relay a message: He wouldn’t have it any other way. The arrangement sways with a tinge of Latin panache; Chuck Jackson liked it well enough to cut a muscular competing version in 1963. But William’s moody treatment rings our bell!
In the mood for something absolutely breathtaking? Check out this deep soul spine-tingler from Percy Sledge, cut in Muscle Shoals in the wake of his 1966 across-the-board chart-topper “When A Man Loves A Woman.” No fast stuff for Percy; he was born to bare his soul on one heartbreaker after another: “Warm And Tender Love,” “It Tears Me Up,” “Out Of Left Field,” and 1968’s “You’re All Around Me,” one of the most haunting of all his Atlantic sides. Penned by local bards Eddie Hinton (one of the area’s top guitarists) and Donnie Fritts, it oozes heartbreak. Poor Percy’s on the verge of tears as he envisions his lost love everywhere he goes and in everything he sees. Ghostly organ, delicate guitar, and wordless backing vocals envelop him, matching the funereal tempo. Then the arrangement starts to pick up steam, with the horns coming in strong and the beat accelerating. No cure for Percy, devastating for us.
Carla Thomas’ winsome 1961 smash “Gee Whiz (Look At His Eyes)” helped cement the relationship between Memphis-based Stax Records, then known as Satellite, and Atlantic. By 1966 Carla—daughter of ebullient deejay/Stax hitmaker Rufus Thomas—was no longer in her teens. The seductive soulstress was the undisputed Queen of Stax, and her string of hits included several duets with her proud papa. Carla had the songwriting and production team of Isaac Hayes and David Porter in her corner for the saucy “Let Me Be Good To You,” her biggest seller since she’d answered Sam Cooke with “I’ll Bring It Home To You” almost four years earlier. Duck Dunn’s supple bass leads into Carla’s understated yet irresistible offer to be good to some lucky stiff. Not a screamer, Carla stylishly entices as the MG’s and Stax’s in-house horns bring it up to a full-throttle boil on the crackling vamp out.
The gospel-imbued lead tenor of Clyde McPhatter made The Drifters the hottest R&B vocal group of their era. And Clyde and his guys didn’t beat around the bush when it came to the joys of sex; he teetered on the verge of ecstasy in “Honey Love,” and their “Such A Night” paid breathless homage to a hot night in the sack. The rollicking “Bip Bam,” penned by Atlantic house scribe Jesse Stone under his Charles Calhoun alias, took it even further. Over a pounding beat anchored by crashing whorehouse piano, Clyde sounds like he’s ready to get it on right then and there, and Sam “The Man” Taylor’s gut-wrenching tenor sax solo is just as randy. Keep in mind that this was a national 1954 hit when you hear Clyde compare himself to a Texas ram.
It’s amazing that the endlessly versatile Bobby Darin managed to slip this Twistable 1961 rocker past the censors. After all, “Multiplication” is an unabashed celebration of procreation. The deliciously witty and slightly naughty wordplay was all Bobby’s own doing; he doesn’t make much of an attempt to introduce love or romance into the steamy equation as he chronicles the robust sexual proclivities of bees, butterflies, minks, rabbits, and parakeets. The brash, young Bronx native was in the middle of a spectacular roll for Atco Records. After establishing himself as a potent rock ’n’ roller with “Splish Splash,” “Queen Of The Hop,” and “Dream Lover,” Bobby donned a tux and boldly challenged Frank Sinatra for top pop crooner status with his immortal “Mack The Knife” and “Beyond The Sea.” Clearly, Darin could do it all—including fake out the bluenoses with his personal set of “Multiplication” tables.
Seminal as Bo Diddley’s original version of “Who Do You Love” was—it’s without question one of his crowning moments on wax—the late rock ’n’ roll pioneer just may have been bested by Ronnie Hawkins’ thundering explosion of a 1963 cover for Roulette Records. Flying under the radar, Ronnie constructed a rock ’n’ roll juggernaut up in Canada with his blazing young combo, The Hawks. Their bandstand-honed thrust was topped off by the scalding lead guitar of Robbie Robertson, for whom “Who Do You Love” was something of a coming-out party; his barbed-wire solo is every bit as bombastic as the Tarzan-like whoops and yells of his supremely extroverted boss. Hawkins, an Arkansas rockabilly wildman who carved out a unique north-of-the-border niche, challenged big bad Bo on his own turf, and more than held his own.
It’s been something of a double-edged sword for Eddie Floyd. Enjoying a monumental smash with his Stax classic “Knock On Wood” meant that its immediate follow-up, “Raise Your Hand,” would be unfairly relegated to comparative obscurity, even if it did chart respectably in 1967. It’s time to rectify that injustice once and for all: “Raise Your Hand” packs the same knockout punch as its more celebrated predecessor. Cowriter Steve Cropper tosses in a nifty little Latin-tinged guitar intro before his MG’s bandmates jump in and dig deep into Memphis soul soil behind Floyd’s infectious vocal. There’s a party going on here as Al Jackson, Jr., in all likelihood the consummate R&B drummer of his era, does his usual spectacular job of keeping the groove rock-steady. Wave those arms in the air and make Eddie happy!
The daunting specter of coming up with a worthy follow-up to Ben E. King’s smash “Stand By Me” didn’t concern Atlantic Records founder Ahmet Ertegun in the slightest. Rather than solicit a songwriter to create something suitable for King to wrap his suave baritone around, Ahmet sat down and cowrote the 1962 Atco hit “Don’t Play That Song (You Lied)” himself. The perfect encore vehicle reconstituted “Stand By Me” and its sophisticated uptown soul ambiance (and quite a bit of its bass line) while introducing a decidedly less cheerful plot. This time King’s in full pleading mode, demanding that the song reminding him of the 17-year-old that broke his heart be consigned to the garbage pile. But the female backing vocalists keep on chanting “Darling, I love you,” enough to drive any lovesick fool crazy. Strings swirl, the percussion percolates, and a forlorn Ben E. cries over and over, “You lied!”
Just because Percy Sledge made the greatest hit of his career his very first time out on Atlantic Records with the immortal “When A Man Loves A Woman” doesn’t mean his equally breathtaking encores don’t chill the spine and free the soul in exactly the same way. Take the absolutely gorgeous “Out Of Left Field,” a 1967 hit written by the unbelievably prolific Muscle Shoals duo of Dan Penn and Spooner Oldham. It’s guaranteed to raise goosebumps and, depending on your mood, maybe even elicit a tear. As on his signature smash, Sledge totally commits to the devotional ballad, its gut-grabbing intensity nearly overwhelming in its pristine beauty. Subtly deployed organ, guitar, and an otherworldly choir slowly but steadily elevate Sledge to heavenly climes. Deep soul simply doesn’t get any deeper than this.
Skulking around the back streets late at night in hot pursuit of illicit affairs has been a prime ingredient in many of Clarence Carter’s best songs for as long as he’s been making hits. Recording in Muscle Shoals for Atlantic, the sightless soul man with the devilish chuckle cut “Slip Away,” the easy-grooving pleader stereotyping him forever as a unrepentant back door man (we won’t even get into his more recent underground sensation, “Strokin’”). Poor Clarence sits on the other side of the cheating fence in 1969’s “I Smell A Rat.” This time someone else is tiptoeing around his house when he’s gone, and he isn’t happy at all about this particular rodent’s presence. Listen closely and you can hear a shadowy female whispering the words in Carter’s ear an instant before he delivers them as the session aces at Rick Hall’s Fame Studios supply a rolling, bluesy groove.
They didn’t crown Solomon Burke the King of Rock ’N’ Soul for nothing. During his early Atlantic Records heyday, the expansive soul master granted both the weepy country ballad “Just Out Of Reach (Of My Two Open Arms)” and Bob Dylan’s defiant “Maggie’s Farm” a regal bearing that transformed each into something fresh and bracing. Fellow Soul Clanner Don Covay’s gently grooving “Party People” caught Burke’s ear in 1967. King Solomon laments not receiving his invitation to the hip shindig unfolding right across the hall, but since soul music, soul food, and his baby are all there, he’s strolling over to join “the happening crowd” and get in on the action anyway. The former Wonder Boy Preacher’s gospel-trained vocal is a mountain of subtle strength, and King Curtis’ cut-glass tenor sax slips into the sinuous backing every so often, the epitome of succinct class.
The Wicked Pickett and the MG’s were truly a match made in soul heaven. They didn’t get to make too many records together in Memphis for Atlantic before Stax boss Jim Stewart pulled the plug, reluctant to squander his house band’s singular groovemaking talents on outsiders. But their limited output did encompass “In The Midnight Hour,” “634-5789,” and “Don’t Fight It,” the latter as swaggering an R&B groover as 1965 would spawn. How could anyone resist a strutting invitation to hit the dance floor from the Wicked One himself, with that modulating horn ensemble part midway through, the whole surging thing driven relentlessly by Al Jackson, Jr.’s thundercrack drums? Pickett had the enviable talent of being able to scream on key, with his gospel-fired pipes intimidating in their raw-edged, larynx-bursting intensity. No reason at all to fight it—just feel it!
I Ain’t Gonna Eat Out My Heart Anymore The Rascals
Label: Atlantic
Released: 1968
NYC’s bass-less former bar band left little to chance on its 1966 debut album, applying max-energy Italo-soul style to such then-current genres as R&B, folk-pop, and Dylan, as well as ’50s rock ’n’ roll and I-will-survive balladry. The LP’s best three minutes, though, are its punkiest. A churning Hammond B-3 and climactic chorus (“Yeahhh!”) open, then give way to Eddie Brigati’s seething Standells-ish vocal (“You better watch your step, girl, or you can bet you’re gonna lose the best thing you ever had!”), sex-beat “Hang On Sloopy” drum breaks, and Gene Cornish’s barbed guitar solo. Composers Pam Sawyer and Lori Burton, not coincidentally, were responsible for a tough girl-group classic, The Whyte Boots’ catfight drama “Nightmare.”
Streetwise down to his toes, Ray Charles knew what a pocketful of chlorophyll-coated “Greenbacks” meant when trying to hook up with a pretty lady, and how fast they disappeared if she was a two-timer. Atlantic Records brought the pianist into an Atlanta radio station for a November 1954 session, which turned out to be the day the Genius married blues and gospel in his historic “I’ve Got A Woman.” Its soulful repercussions overshadowed its highly humorous session mate “Greenbacks,” a Charles original that swings like mad, its hip horn voicings bordering on bop. Ray effortlessly shifts his voice from the would-be cool-cat narrator to his own sanctified shout, and the snazzy baritone sax solo is courtesy of David “Fathead” Newman, just getting his feet wet as Ray’s favorite horn man. When Flo absconds to the powder room with his $25 bankroll, Brother Ray waves “Lincoln” and “Jackson” goodbye.
Atlantic Records honcho Jerry Wexler signed soul-searing Miami duo Sam Moore and Dave Prater and promptly dispatched them down to Stax/Volt in Memphis, no doubt anticipating a raft of hits. “A Place Nobody Can Find” was Sam & Dave’s first Stax single in 1965; though it didn’t crack the charts, the ingredients for the pair’s future mammoth success are in fiery evidence. The gospel-fired duo’s electrifying vocals are propelled by a crackling groove from Booker T. & The MG’s, Stax’s resident horn section blasting in strategically. Dig the dynamics toward the end, where everybody cools out just a bit for a few seconds before turning the heat back up full blast. When its songwriter David Porter teamed with Isaac Hayes to take over as Sam & Dave’s Stax mentors right after this, the pair ignited like twin sticks of double dynamite.
Next time the age-old debate on who cut the first rock ’n’ roll record breaks out, try nominating Ruth Brown’s scalding 1953 Atlantic outing “Hello Little Boy.” It’s as insane as anything Little Richard would ever scream. Miss Rhythm was so integral to Atlantic Records’ rise in the R&B field that wags called it “The House That Ruth Built,” but her alluring previous smashes—“Teardrops From My Eyes,” “5-10-15 Hours,” and “(Mama) He Treats Your Daughter Mean”—didn’t blister paint on the studio walls like this one. Brown’s leather-lunged wails are matched by crazed sax solos from Paul Williams on baritone and tenor titan Sam “The Man” Taylor. The band’s so locked in that drummer Joe Marshall bashes on for an extra bar or two at the end. Ruth made a lot more great records for Atlantic, but she never rocked this hard again
Otis Redding was the king of Stax/Volt Records until the day he died—and as it turned out, well beyond. His many hits for the Memphis-based label—“Mr. Pitiful,” “Try A Little Tenderness,” the posthumous “(Sittin’ On) The Dock Of The Bay”—remain essential. But a few gems slipped through the cracks. “Don’t Mess With Cupid,” cut in 1966, sports the relentless drive of his “Respect” and “I Can’t Turn You Loose,” though cowriter Steve Cropper’s slashing, precise minor-key guitar flicks on the intro are a sly fooler. It’s all throbbing rave-up after that, the Big O grabbing hold of Booker T. & the MG’s’ pile-driving groove and investing each and every line with gritty, guttural intensity. The horns offer punchy counterpoint to Redding’s cries, their slippery riffs on the vamp-out offering a sweaty backdrop for Otis and his nonstop get-down testifying. Hey, Cupid: Don’t mess with Otis!
