Sweet Soul Music
This is an earnest and engrossing account of the rise of southern soul music, tracing the major figures that evolved it from R&B and gospel, beginning on the upstart labels, and leading to their deals with Atlantic Records. If you’re not up for reading the whole thing, the 20-page introduction alone is a super overview of the major themes.
Guralnick intersperses deep research and contemporary interviews with the major soul artists with his own recollections of seeing them perform as a young fan. From his many sources, he presents a complicated history, filled with conflicting memories, evaluations, and even definitions of soul music itself. I like Guralnick’s own attempts at definition in the book’s opening pages:
”What [soul music] offers, rather, is something akin to the ‘knowledgeable apprehension,’ in Alfred Hitchcock’s famous definition of suspense, that precedes the actual climax, that everyone knows is coming—it’s just nobody is quite sure when. Soul music is a music that keeps hinting at a conclusion, keeps straining at the boundaries—of melody and convention—that it has imposed upon itself. That is where it is to be differentiated from the let-it-all-hang-out rock ‘n’ roll of a cheerful charismatic like Little Richard, who for all the brilliance of his singing and the subtleties of which he is capable, basically hits the ground running and accelerates from there. It is to be differentiated, too, from the cultural refinements of Motown, which, with equal claim to inspiration from the church, rarely uncorks a full-blooded scream, generally establishes the tension without ever really letting go, and only occasionally will reveal a flash of raw emotion” (7)
The early soul hits coming out of Stax and Fame were the product of in-studio jam sessions, group song-writing, and producer-led arranging. More than session musicians filling in, it was more like a house band (Booker T and the MG’s, the Mar-keys). So many songs were made in a matter of minutes with someone showing up with a groove and everyone filling in. Or big name singers showing up and the band coming up with something for them.
While there was this sort of natural, free-flowing songwriting, at the same time, the goal was definitely commercial. While the genre began on independents, it was in reality competing with rock ‘n’ roll and country music, and “Let’s make a hit,” is the most common thing we hear the soul players and producers in this book say. It’s funny that major hits were sometimes thrown together in a matter of minutes.
It really was a special (and pretty sweet) moment in which this could happen. Inevitably, Stax got too big for itself, which stoked political infighting, prompting unstrategic business deals, and ultimately, tragically, its implosion.
Guralnick does more than present a record label history. Most chapters delve into a major soul figure. I particularly enjoyed the insights in the James Brown chapter:
“James Brown gloried in his very commonness (‘He made the ugly man somebody,’ childhood friend Leon Austin told reporter Gerri Hirshey, speaking specifically of the racial implications of this ‘darker person’s’ success), and his chief title, ‘the Hardest Working Man in Show Business,’ was based on a quality accessible even to the humblest member of his audience. For the crowds that snaked around the block waiting to purchase tickets to his show at the Apollo he might send out cups of soup and coffee because he recognized that for his audience as well as for himself James Brown’s success was a matter of faith and commitment; ‘it meant a lot to me that people were prepared to wait for hours to see my show’” (234).
I love this dynamic between Brown and his audience. Apparently Brown’s “Live at the Apollo” record received so many requests on black radio stations, that some of them would just play the entire LP on the air at certain scheduled times each week, something that must have surely been unheard of.
Guralnick is also insightful when describing the music itself. Here’s him explaining the revolutionary character of Brown’s work:
“With ‘Out of Sight’ all this changed. All the grunts, groans, screams, clicks, and screeches that had been lurking in the background, the daringly modal approach to melody (soon there would be virtually no chord changes in a James Brown song, with forward motion dependent entirely on rhythm), were—without anyone’s fully realizing it in 1965—intimations of African roots, declarations of black pride that would very soon earn James Brown plaudits from cultural nationalists and the musical avant-garde alike” (240).
And here’s Guralnick quoting musicologist, Robert Palmer: “‘The rhythmic elements became the song. There were few chord changes, or none at all, but there were plenty of trick rhythmic interludes and suspensions…Brown and his musicians began to treat every instrument and voice in the group as if it were a drum. The horns played single-note bursts that were often sprung against the downbeats. The bass lines were broken into choppy two or three-note patterns, a procedure common in Latin music since the Forties but unusual in r&b. Brown’s rhythm guitarist choked his guitar strings against the instrument’s neck so hard that his playing began to sound like a jagged tin can being scraped with a pocket knife. Only occasionally were the horns, organ or backing vocalists allowed to provide a harmonic continuum by holding a chord’” (240).