Soul, Funk and Disco

Cher “3614 Jackson Highway” (ATCO, 1969)

[After we reviewed Sonny Bono’s Inner Views in May, it seemed only right and natural to write about a Cher album soon after.]

I love it when an artist’s outlier album is their best. Another case in point: Cher’s sixth LP, 3614 Jackson Highway, recorded at the Alabama studio bearing that address, Muscle Shoals. This is Cher’s Dusty In Memphis, a kind of gritty Southern soul/funk outing that deviated from her usual output. Produced by Jerry Wexler, Arif Mardin, and Tom Dowd, 3614 Jackson Highway was a critical success and consensus Cher favorite among true heads, but the album only peaked at #160 on the Billboard chart. Oh well…

For this career peak, producer Jerry Wexler enlisted the same Muscle Shoals musicians who supported Aretha Franklin, Wilson Pickett, Solomon Burke, and others to provide Cher with a new framework in which to flex her superb singing on an interesting batch of other people’s compositions. Coproducer Arif Mardin’s orchestrations are rich and at times syrupy, but they don’t obscure the crack group, which includes lead guitarist Jimmy Johnson, bassist David Hood, drummer Roger Hawkins, keyboardist Barry Beckett, guitarist Eddie Hinton, and backing vocalist/future Grateful Dead member Donna Godchaux (née Thatcher).

Cher sounds like she’s in her element here. She’s always had a knack for grandstanding on large-hearted/robust-lunged ballads, but she also reveals her skill with subtler material, including three covers of Nashville Skyline tracks, which had only come out two months earlier in ’69. Younger fans of Cher’s later glossy pop records might be shocked to learn about the intensity of her Bob Dylan love, which spanned over several records. Changing the title to “Lay Baby Lay,” Cher showed her outsized adoration for this lewd, louche Dylan ditty, and as a huge fan of “Lay Lady Lay,” I can only approve of her faithful cover. A spare and funky “Tonight I’ll Be Staying Here With You” and a sweet, gospel-tinged “I Threw It All Away” also appear.

3614 Jackson Street brilliantly kicks off with a great rendering of the Buffalo Springfield all-timer, “For What It’s Worth.” The song’s animated by slide guitar accents, ghostly backing “ooh”s, and drums that slap hard, even if they aren’t as funky as those on Sérgio Mendes‘ version, but it’s the jaw harp twangs that lift this into rarefied territory. In a bold move, Wexler instructed Cher take a crack at Otis Redding and Steve Cropper’s Stax classic “(Sittin’ On) The Dock Of The Bay.” Sure, the OG is unsurpassable, but Ms. Sarkisian’s is a really nice, smooth, and soulful take. Even her voice breaking on it sounds right. Plus, these Southern boys have a natural feel for the material. That same brashness applies to “I Walk On Guilded Splinters.” It must have felt daunting to tackle Dr. John’s sinister swamp-funk totem; nobody will ever top the diabolical original, but Cher and company acquit themselves with panache. And Box Tops fans will be interested to hear Cher’s slowed-down and jazzed-up version of “Cry Like A Baby.”

3614 Jackson Street remains a cheap-heat staple in the used vinyl bins. If you can only own one Cher album, this is it. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

The Politicians “The Politicians Featuring McKinley Jackson” (Hot Wax, 1972)

Based in Detroit, the Politicians’ members were the equivalent to Motown’s Funk Brothers, but for the Hot Wax and Invictus labels. Though the Politicians recorded only one album, it contained enough heat for three. Led by trombonist/composer/producer/arranger McKinley Jackson, the group included Melvin Griff (piano, saxophone), “Peanut” Roderick Chandler (bass, saxophone), Z. Slater (drums, percussion), and “Clay” Clarence Robinson (organ, trumpet). As a DJ, I’ve found The Politicians Featuring McKinley Jackson to be a treasure trove of brash and soulful funk. On the evidence of this sole release, Jackson deserves to be much better known.

The album kicks off with “Psycha-Soula-Funkadelic” which Jackson and Griffin wrote with the great Ruth Copeland (reviewed here earlier this month); it’s a peak-time scorcher that encompasses the styles in its title. “The World We Live In” is a stealthy psychedelic funk bomb that sashays at the “It’s Your Thing” tempo. A crazy, modulated whistling sound coursing through the whole song sounds like a Theremin (or Minnie Riperton) in the throes of ecstasy; it really sets this tune apart from nearly everything in the funk canon. The coolness keeps on coming with “Church,” whose nonchalant funk with clavinet and what sounds like a celesta has serious uplifting potential.

Our old buddies Holland-Dozier-Holland—long free from Motown’s strictures—make their greatness felt on “Free Your Mind,” which isn’t as heavy as Funkadelic nor as tight as the Meters, but it vibrates in a nice, laid-back vein that’s ideal for low-key summer hangs. A hit for fellow Detroit soul unit 100 Proof Aged In Soul, “Everything Good Is Bad” boasts a fantastically moving melody with unison soulful male/female vocals. Flute, strings, and Southern-friend guitar calligraphy also elevate this song, of which I never tire.

Things slow down and get a bit mushy on side 2, but it does have the LP’s peak, “Funky Toes.” Featuring one of the most distinctive clavinet riffs I’ve ever heard (and I’ve heard a lot), this cut is as filthy as anything that Funkadelic or Kool And The Gang were laying down in 1972. No wonder DJ Spooky sampled it for his ill trip-hop classic, “Galactic Funk.” “Close Your Big Mouth,” a Jackson-Slater cowrite, is the sort of poised, celebratory jam that’s a perfect send-off for this party platter.

UK label Demon reissued The Politicians Featuring McKinley Jackson on vinyl in 2019; the Japanese label Solid re-released it in 2018. It’s not an easy pull, but it’s well worth putting in the effort to score one. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Niagara “Niagara” (United Artists, 1970)

Led by the prolific German drummer/library-music composer Klaus Weiss, Niagara were a showcase for him and his fellow drummer/percussionist mates to go beat crazy in the studio. On their debut LP, Niagara erected two sidelong jams that undulate and mutate with spontaneous-seeming invention, but knowing Weiss, they were likely precisely composed. This record may change haters’ bias against drum solos, as there are many phenomenal ones transpiring throughout Niagara‘s 40 minutes.

“Sangandongo” is a 19-minute percussion seminar presented by some of the most fluent players in the world. An international cast of musicians accompanied Weiss: England’s Keith Forsey (drums, cymbals, percussion; Amon Düül II, Klaus Doldinger‘s Motherhood, Giorgio Moroder’s Munich Machine), America’s Cotch Blackmon (conga, percussion), Venezuela’s Juan Romero (cowbell, maracas), and Germany’s Udo Lindenberg (drums, timbales, percussion; Klaus Doldinger’s Motherhood). There’s enough time on “Sangandongo” for Niagara to lean on repetition and variation and phasing to drive home the track’s many pleasures. Think the Incredible Bongo Band, but blown out to epic proportions. At 8:30, things get unbelievably funky; it’s amazing what tambourines and cowbell in the right hands can do to enhance a track. “Sangandongo” is a mind-boggling odyssey of delectable rhythms, unusual timbres, and shifting dynamics—telepathic genius on the level of Can.

The nearly 21-minute “Malanga” starts in a more understated manner than “Sangandongo,” with much intense cymbal work building tension. But gradually the snares begin to punch harder, the rhythms become more emphatic, the bass-drum booms magnify. Later, manic cowbell, panning cymbals, and weirdly FXed congas create a disorienting soundfloor. As it progresses, “Malanga” morphs into a stunning force of nature, a stormy weather system to which you can dance… albeit oddly.

Everland reissued Niagara in 2022, and that same year they collected all three Niagara albums in a lavish boxed set. S.U.B. (1972) is essentially the funkiest library-music album you’ve never heard, just absurdly danceable and soul-jazzy stuff to trigger ultimate hedonism in those receptive to it. You can tell simply by their drum tones that these dudes knew how to party. Afire (1973) is another massive, drum orgy with a surfeit of lubricious percussion. Nobel Prize for the eminence at Everland who made that decision. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Ruth Copeland “I Am What I Am” (Invictus, 1971)

A white Englishwoman with phenomenal pipes singing and writing songs while backed by early-’70s Funkadelic? And we get two excellent Rolling Stones covers, to boot? Gosh, you don’t have to twist my arm to get me to listen to Ruth Copeland’s I Am What I Am.

Copeland came to many folks’ attention by co-producing and writing two great, anomalous songs for Parliament’s first LP, Osmium. When she signed to Detroit’s Invictus Records, it was understood that label bosses (and stellar Motown songwriting team) Holland-Dozier-Holland would groom her to become the Caucasian Diana Ross. Obviously, things didn’t quite pan out that way, and Copeland ended up cutting only three solo albums in ’70s before fading into deep obscurity.

Backing up a bit, one of her songs on Osmium, “The Silent Boatman,” stands among the greatest ever written, a solemnly gorgeous, quasi-gospel tune about redemption in the afterlife, a tune that any sensible person would want played at their funeral. The composition also appeared on Copeland’s 1970 solo debut album, Self Portrait. There’s nothing quite as sublime as that classic on I Am What I Am, but Copeland’s sophomore LP—which she also produced; rare for a woman at that time—is stronger overall.

The album begins with a bang: “The Medal”—cowritten with Donald Charles Baldwin—toggles between starkly dramatic, piano-intensive balladry and a funky, acid-rock blowout. Copeland brandishes her exceptional vocal range, going from tender croon to Julie Driscoll-/Ann Wilson-like wailing while lamenting the Vietnam War’s toll on America’s young men. A freaky guitar solo by Hazel, Monette, or Bykowski is the LSD-laced cherry on top.

The first of three George Clinton collabs, “Cryin’ Has Made Me Stronger;” is a gospel-tinged, piano-heavy ballad about the torment of a busted-up relationship. It’s a real emotional wallow, with stacked backing vocals offering sweet consolation. George also contributes to “Hare Krishna,” a swaying, blues-gospel roof-raiser that sweeps up all in its path, atheists and agnostics included. Copeland persuasively sings, “What I’m trying to say is, we’re all the same,” no matter which religion we follow. Many would beg to differ, but it is a pretty thought. The final Clinton cowrite is “Don’t You Wish You Had (What You Had When You Had It?),” a filthy funk slow-burner with that trademark Clintonian lubriciousness. Ruth is in bravura form on the mic, rebuking a paramour who made poor decisions regarding their love. A scorching, rueful guitar solo by Hazel (I think) seals the deal.

Speaking of Eddie, he cowrote “Suburban Family Lament” with Copeland, and it’s I Am What I Am‘s funky apex. (The fantastic opening drum break has been sampled nine times, including by Madlib, Danger Mouse, and A Tribe Called Quest.) The track’s as gritty and groovy as anything on Hazel’s 1977 solo joint, Game, Dames And Guitar Thangs, and it could have easily fit on Maggot Brain or Free Your Mind.

The two Rolling Stones covers here are better than most. On “Play With Fire,” Copeland transforms one of the Stones’ most plaintive ballads into a showcase for her extraordinarily powerful voice. The group extends the song to over seven minutes of storm and stress dynamics, as Worrell or Case’s cyclical piano motifs ratchet up the tension. I gotta believe that Mick and Keith had to have dug these Funkadelicized extrapolations. Now, some might think it a fool’s errand to cover one of rock’s mightiest classics, “Gimme Shelter,” but Copeland and her assembled Funkadelic badasses are more than up for the task. She doesn’t quite reach Merry Clayton levels of distress in the original, but Copeland certainly captures the emotional turbulence at the song’s core about war’s many destructive effects. The band continues to pile up layers of guitars, bass, drums, and backing vocals until the last few minutes of this eight-minute epic topple into a glorious whirlpool of excess. Serious show-stopper energy here.

Copeland’s best album, I Am What I Am should’ve made her a star, but instead it’s become a cult classic, a real IKYKY funk/soul gem. It was last reissued on vinyl by UK label Demon in 2019, but even those have become scarce and pricey. Time for another re-release! -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Marvin Gaye “Trouble Man” (Tamla, 1972)

Marvin Gaye’s only film score is one of the zeniths of the short-lived blaxploitation genre. (Though I’ve not seen it, the Trouble Man movie is generally considered a dud.) Beyond that major feat, Trouble Man stands as one of Gaye’s greatest albums, as well as the first one he totally wrote and produced. Matter of fact, I like it better than consensus all-time #1 classic What’s Going On—and, no, I’m not just being a contrarian.

The odd thing about Trouble Man is that Gaye—one of soul music’s most emotive and powerful vocalists—seldom sings on it. No, Marvin was more interested in playing the Moog synthesizer that fellow Motown superstar Stevie Wonder had recently gifted him. The result is a stunning anomaly in Gaye’s phenomenal catalog.

Musicians on Trouble Man included members of the Motown session band the Funk Brothers and Bohannon‘s group. Having Ray Parker Jr. and David T. Walker on guitar and Stix Hooper and Leon “Ndugu” Chancler on drums surely helped Gaye achieve his aims here. “Main Theme From Trouble Man (2)” kicks off with articulated, wah-wah guitar wails and bass/drum action akin to Jimi Hendrix Experience‘s “Rainy Day, Dream Away.” Add rolling piano storminess, a melismatic sax solo, and an attention-grabbing keyboard motif that puts all of your synapses on high alert, and you may ask yourself, “What’s going on?” Answer: not the Marvin Gaye status quo, brothers and sisters. Later comes “Main Theme From Trouble Man (1),” a version that’s as tough as nails and as velvety as a pimp’s strides. Confuisingly, there is also a track titled “Theme From Trouble Man,” which is super tranquil and woozy, with sax and strings to the fore. Then there’s “Deep-In-It”; with its freaky Moog solo squiggling over piano and strings chiaroscuro, it might be Gaye’s strangest track.

“’T’ Plays It Cool” delivers mellow yet rock-ribbed jazz funk enhanced by staccato, funky Moog riffs and cracking drums while the sax- and strings-laden “Poor Abbey Walsh,” by contrast, verges on melodrama. Still, it’s interesting to hear Marvin stretch out of his comfort zone. The contemplative “Life Is A Gamble” also flirts with sentimentality and features some very morose vocalizations by Gaye. The spare, bongo-heavy suspense-thriller cut “’T’ Stands For Trouble” is as incisive as anything library-music titans Pierro Umiliani or Alan Hawkshaw did, with the record’s stealthiest bass line, played either by Wilton Felder or Ron Brown. (Oddly, I can find no bassist credits on Wikipedia or on the LP cover; Motown was notoriously stingy with info.)

Last but most, “Trouble Man” is the epitome of cool in the über-cool blaxploitation-soundtrack game. Gaye’s falsetto has never been sleeker nor steelier, his “yeah”s never more wracked and his “hoo”s never eerier. The music’s minimalist, subtly funky and swinging, full of implied menace. I’m gonna go out on a limb here and call this Gaye’s greatest song and maybe his most impressive vocal performance. It’s a whole mood, as some young folk are wont to say. I could live to be 900 years old and never tire of it. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

The Sunshine Band “The Sound Of Sunshine” (TK, 1975)

Before they became a well-oiled hit machine and the punch line to millions of unfunny discophobic jokes, KC & The Sunshine Band were a tight little funk group who cut a brilliant, undersung debut in 1974 titled Do It Good, which still sounds vital more than 50 years later. Their next album, 1975’s KC & The Sunshine Band, boasted two #1 hits: “Get Down Tonight” and “That’s The Way (I Like It).” Keyboardist/vocalist Harry Wayne Casey and bassist Richard Finch formed a formidable songwriting duo, excelling at hooks and grooves as scorching as their home state of Florida’s sun, and they were on one hell of a roll.

So it’s weird that their third album, The Sound Of Sunshine, was recorded under the truncated moniker the Sunshine Band and basically consisted of all instrumentals. I suspect Casey and Finch recorded these tracks around the time of Do It Good, and then shoved them out to market after their sophomore LP exploded, to capitalize on its momentum. That still doesn’t explain the shortened name. Whatever the case, The Sound Of Sunshine is a true heater to which even some KC haters might bust a move.

The album begins swimmingly with “Shotgun Shuffle,” whose easy-going, loping funk pleases with uplifting horns and circular, ringing guitar riffs. It’s a rudimentary, Kool & The Gang-like jam that’s exceptionally effective at raising pulse rates and spirits. As a bonus, the Fire backing vocal group (Beverly Champion, Margaret Reynolds, Jeanette Williams) shout “shotgun” near the end, to really launch this party. Remember “Rock Your Baby,” a chart-topper for George McCrae in 1974? Well, it’s interesting to hear this version done by its composers, following McCrae’s mellow proto-disco version, which John Lennon and ABBA’s Björn and Benny loved. Saxophones carry the main melody and the buoyant, midtempo groove pairs well with the Andrea True Connection’s “More More More.” As another bonus, Clarence Reid (aka Blowfly) cowrote “Funky ’75,” a light-footed specimen of mid-’70s funk that can’t help putting a smile on your feet.

That’s a helluva opening triptych, but there are other highlights on this 26-minute gem. For example, “Miss B. (Theme),” whose tenseness makes it prime spy-thriller/action-sequence material—soaring and as funky as Wilt Chamberlain’s headband. The slow, swampy funk of “Just A Groove” creeps on in à la the Band’s “Up On Cripple Creek”; it’s shocking that nobody’s sampled it. “Sunshine City”’s fleet, airy funk eradicates your worries with alacrity. Its essence should be bottled and sold as a healthcare supplement. Once again for the slow learners at the back of the class: KC & The Sunshine Band were no joke. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Herbie Hancock “Sextant” (Columbia, 1973)

One of the hardest things for a music fanatic to do is name a favorite Herbie Hancock album. Like his former bandmate Miles Davis, the virtuoso keyboardist/composer has had so many phases in his eventful career, with so many peaks in myriad styles. But for me, Sextant might be #1. If nothing else, it boasts my fave cover, created by the excellent Robert Springett. But to the music…

Sextant contains three epic tracks, averaging 13 minutes. Combine this structure with the extremely uncompromising nature of the music, and one longs for any photos and/or footage of Columbia Records execs listening to the finished product and hearing no commercial potential whatsoever. Imagine their facial expressions… and try not to laugh. Sextant is the first LP in an extraordinary run Hancock had for Columbia, encompassing Head Hunters, Thrust, the Death Wish OST, Man-Child, and Secrets. Undoubtedly, Sextant remains the farthest-out record among them all. Crossings, which Warner Bros. released in 1972, soars pretty high, too, but it’s not nearly as intense as Sextant.

The shortest piece here at 9:19, “Rain Dance” starts with the most tantalizing array of bleeps and eruptions from Herbie’s keyboards and Dr. Patrick Gleeson’s Arp 2600; think Morton Subotnick (also on Columbia!) going to town in a jazz-funk frenzy. This section’s been sampled 35 times, and even that seems low. Gradually, the rest of Hancock’s world-class band jump in to embellish the splendid chaos that the good doctor instigated. It sounds like the soundtrack to a major cyborgian malfunction or an outtake from Gil Mellé’s score for The Andromeda Strain. “Rain Dance” was so far ahead of its time, many heads still ain’t ready for its discombobulating brilliance 53 years later.

“Hidden Shadows” is a slightly more conventional species of psychedelic fusion in the vein of Bitches Brew and On The Corner (on both of which Herbie played, of course). Bassist Buster Williams and drummer Billy Hart really work some coiled magic here, creating a humid funk churn, bolstered by Herbie and Gleeson’s space-dusted keyboards and synths and Buck Clarke’s root-chakra-aligning conga and bongo slaps. At over 19 minutes, “Hornets” offers almost too much pressure-cooking heat. It’s another white-knuckler of busy jazz-funk exploration, full of artful aggression, a bass line that elegantly drills to Earth’s core, and pugnacious quacks from saxophonist Bennie Maupin’s kazoo. This isn’t your dad’s jazz, amigo. Everyone here’s playing as if they have huge chips on their shoulders, and it’s freaking exhilarating.

Sextant found Hancock and his band of explorers taking jazz to extremes seldom traversed outside of Sun Ra’s omniverse. Columbia Records’ executives and accountants could not be reached for comment. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

B.T. Express “Do It (‘Til You’re Satisfied)” (Scepter, 1974)

The debut album by New York septet B.T. Express stylishly dwells at the intersection of funk and disco. With the title track, these hip dudes and dudette cut one of the definitive dance-club bangers of that grooviest of decades, the 1970s. No wonder it’s been sampled at least 292 times and covered 13 times. Not only does “Do It (‘Til You’re Satisfied)” dispense good advice (as long as it’s legal and ethical!) in a soothing, deep male voice, it captures that cherished sensation of bonking while on a train as you’re amped on the cleanest speed in creation and urged along by blaxploitation-flick chicken-squawk guitar filigrees. I mean, what more do you want?

Of course, there are more delights on this bad boy. The opening track, “Express,” is just an incredible slab of orchestral, chugging disco-funk, augmented by crucial triangle accents, Carlos Ward’s gorgeously serene flute, and Rich Thompson’s subtly psychedelic wah-wah guitar. It’s a perfect soundtrack for swift transit across vast expanses—let’s call it a Black American counterpart to Kraftwerk’s “Autobahn.” The superfly funk of “If It Don’t Turn You On (You Oughta’ Leave It Alone)” is as subtly groovy as the best Curtis Mayfield classics. You can hear the sly rhythm sampled to glorious effect by EPMD for “So Wat Cha Sayin’” and on Das EFX’s “Mic Checka.”

The clap-enhanced funk bomb “Once You Get It” lays the foundation for George Clinton’s “Atomic Dog” and Zapp’s “More Bounce To The Ounce.” Yes, it’s that important. Barbara Joyce Lomas brandishes powerful, gospelized pipes on the swaggering disco blazer “Everything Good To You (Ain’t Always Good For You)”—a strong contrast to the ominous, orchestral “Mental Telepathy”’s serious “Papa Was A Rollin’ Stone” vibes. (Let’s give a shout out here to Randy Muller and Trade Martin’s string arrangements.) “Do You Like It” is horn-blasted funk with a phenomenal, zig-zagging bass line that would sound ace seguing into KC & The Sunshine Band’s “Boogie Shoes.” “That’s What I Want For You Baby” is another loco-motion jam in the J.B.s vein, with superbly soulful vocals by Lomas. Ward’s cool flute motif meshes well with the strings.

Sure, the lyrics on these nine songs all revolve around matters of the heart and genitals—and not with much cleverness, to boot—but that’s excusable when the music slaps as hard as most of Do It does. Blessedly, no ballads mess with the flow. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in nearly six decades of music listening, it’s that 99% of funk groups’ ballads are skippable. Ultimately, B.T. Express would never top their first album, and it remains bargain-bin gold and DJ manna to this day. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Bill Withers “Still Bill” (Sussex, 1972)

West Virginia-born troubadour Bill Withers’ first three albums warmed the US charts and the hearts of millions of listeners with their salt-of-the-earth lyricism, distinctively soulful vocals, and subtle funkiness. I highly recommend owning all of them: Just As I Am, Still Bill, and +’Justments.

As a youth growing up in the Detroit area in the ’70s, I heard Withers’ songs on the radio daily, and hits such as “Use Me,” Lean On Me” (both on Still Bill), “Ain’t No Sunshine,” and “Lovely Day” became part of my DNA. For chart fodder, these tunes possessed a depth beyond most of their popular counterparts. Bill came across as a blue-collar dude who just happened to be a supremely gifted singer-songwriter. That checks out, because Withers served nine years in the Navy and worked as a mechanical assembler for Douglas Aircraft, IBM, and Ford.

As noted, Still Bill boasts those two immortal hits, and man, they still resonate like hell. With backing from members of Charles Wright & The Watts 103rd St Rhythm Band, Withers attained a career peak on these 10 songs. Right away with “Lovely Town, Lonely Street,” Withers distinguished himself from the R&B pack with some tough folk-funk, augmented by violins. Lyrically and musically nuanced, “Who Is He (And What Is He To You)?” purveys low-slung funk as Withers portrays a man who’s suspicious of his woman’s infidelity; it’s an ideal merging of sonic and verbal themes (Stan McKenny penned the lyrics). “Kissing My Love” opens with James Gadson’s killer break of extreme, Meters-like funkiness—not unlike “Just Kissed My Baby,” in fact, which arose two years after this—and Benorce Blackman’s wah-wah-guitar accents. It’s hard to believe that “Kissing My Love” didn’t light up the charts, like Still Bill‘s other singles did.

If there’s one thing that Still Bill proves, it’s that Withers excels at creating simmering, brooding, bluesy funk. For example, there’s “Another Day To Run,” a low-key gem reminiscent of Sly & The Family Stone‘s more understated material before it accelerates into a clap-along, gospel-ish raveup. Both “I Don’t Want You On My Mind” and “Take It All In And Check It All Out” creep in on a stealthy path, with Blackman’s shafts of blaxploitation-flick guitar really animating things in the latter song.

As for those classics that everybody knows, “Use Me” barges in on that famous clavinet riff and rimshot pattern, which will never not make hairs stand up on backs of necks. Those rimshots are some of the most evocative of the 20th century. Bill’s rightly upset over how his woman mistreats him, but apparently the sex is so good, he wants to tell everyone about it. “Lean On Me” justifiably became a unifying hymn of sorts. It miraculously blossomed from a personal display of friendliness into a universal expression of mutual aid. Although it flirts with sentimentality, this undeniable song has medicinal, soul-soothing qualities.

Throughout Still Bill, Withers’ robust yet intimate singing draws you in to his gripping songwriting. It reminds us of a time when the top of the charts harbored high-quality artistry. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Joe Tex “I Gotcha” (Dial, 1972)

Joe Tex (1935-1982) was a Texas-born soul singer/songwriter who branched out into funk, country, gospel, and lord have mercy, disco. No less a keen judge of talent than Little Richard claimed that in the early ’60s, James Brown imitated Tex’s dance moves and microphone machinations. JB proceeded to take them to the bank, and Brown and Tex became rivals, with the former obviously outshining the latter commercially. (Brown even covered a Tex composition, “ Baby You’re Right,” and scored a hit with it in 1962, so real recognized real.)

While Tex had his own chart successes, he seems not to have had a lasting presence in the public consciousness. Nevertheless, director Quentin Tarantino had the sharp instincts to place Tex’s unforgettable “I Gotcha” in his 1992 film, Reservoir Dogs. It’s the lead-off track from Tex’s LP of the same name, and gotdamn, it is one of the lustiest and gruffest R&B/funk tunes ever to storm a chart. No wonder it’s been sampled 107 times… One caveat: Heard with 21st-century ears, the song’s lyrics come across as kind of creepy, even verging on threatening toward the singer’s inamorata. But the bobbing bass line, cat-wail guitar riffs, and soaring horns mitigate such concerns.

Almost as outrageously sexy as “I Gotcha,” the funk gem “Give The Baby Anything The Baby Wants” is stealthier—and as filthy as anything Mr. Brown was releasing in the early ’70s. So it’s a shock when the orchestral, gospel-tinged ballad “Takin’ A Chance” eases in, starting out sounding like “A Whiter Shade Of Pale,” before burgeoning into widescreen grandiosity. “Baby Let Me Steal You” is a slightly more restrained version of “I Gotcha,” and consequently more seductive, yet it still generates plenty of funky friction. The first of a couple of simmering, Al Green-esque soul numbers, “God Of Love” will inflate your heart and put a pep in your step. (the consoling, warm “The Woman Cares” is the other one.) On “Bad Feet,” Tex writes a quirky, catchy soul tune while in poised crooner mode.

“You Said A Bad Word” is almost a carbon copy of “I Gotcha,” but I’m not complaining. If a template is as satisfying as Tex’s demanding, libidinous funk, you might as well milk it. So Tex does it again on “Love Me Right Girl,” appealingly halting rhythm and all. Closing the LP, “You’re In Too Deep” is a low-key funk nugget with a fantastic, descending bass line.

Peaking at #5 on the R&B chart and #17 on the pop chart, I Gotcha is a pretty typical romance-/sex-obsessed record from the early ’70s, but Tex’s outsized personality, robust pipes, and ability to recycle memorable themes make it a keeper. Tarantino would agree. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Minnie Riperton “Come To My Garden” (GRT, 1970)

Blessed with a five-octave vocal range, singer-songwriter Minnie Riperton (1947-1979) was one of the most distinctive American soul/R&B vocalists. She got her start singing back-up for Etta James, Chuck Berry, Bo Diddley, Muddy Waters, and Ramsey Lewis, before joining the excellent psychedelic-soul group Rotary Connection as lead singer. She also had a stint singing with Stevie Wonder’s bands in the first half of the ’70s. You’ve probably heard her stunning voice, whether you realize it or not.

Riperton’s debut album had the good fortune to be produced and written by Chicago studio legends Charles Stepney and Minnie’s husband, Richard Rudolph. Both titans had contributed mightily to Rotary Connection‘s unique psychedelic-soul sound, but for Come To My Garden, they toned down the bombastic sonics and Riperton mostly eschewed the Theremin-like, high-pitched operatics. Pianist Ramsey Lewis’ band—Earth, Wind & Fire leader Maurice White (drums), Cleveland Eaton (bass), Phil Upchurch (guitar), and backing vocalists Elsa Harris and Kitty Hayward—provide the stellar backing.

The LP’s peak is opening track “Les Fleurs,” simply one of the most majestic and gorgeous songs ever penned. It’s an orchestral-soul tune so grandiosely salubrious, it nearly nullifies all of the evil humanity’s done over the millennia. Call this hyperbole if you must, but the proof is in the grooves. Riperton sings from the perspective of a flower, and her voice is as smoothly soft and gloriously beautiful as its petals. That moment when the song gathers its energy for the chorus and then soars to a higher plane is the most lip-smacking chef’s kiss, god damn. Rotary Connection and Ramsey Lewis also recorded this song, and, honestly, you need every version of this classic in your collection. It might be Stepney and Rudolph’s crowning achievement. No wonder “Les Fleurs” has appeared on the soundtracks to at least seven films and TV shows.

The rest of Come To My Garden doesn’t reach those heights, but it does feature plenty of sophisticated love ballads with grand orchestrations, excellent dynamics, and bravura vocals. On the title track, Riperton ululates in her upper register in a hushed ballad that periodically blooms into intoxicating epiphanies, boosted by deeply soulful female backing vocals. It’s ineffably beautiful. The feather Latin jazz reverie “Memory Band” (also recorded by Rotary Connection on 1968’s The Rotary Connection) is lovely, while the lush, sweeping “Rainy Day In Centerville” recalls David Axelrod at his most romantic. Riperton’s voice is sheerest silk, sweetest honey, most radiant passion. “Expecting” might be the music you hear while you’re ascending to heaven—if there is such a place; the jury is still out. Throughout the record, Minnie’s voice makes Diana Ross’ sound like Joe Tex’s.

Riperton did some more good work in the ’70s, including 1974’s #1 hit “Lovin’ You” and 1975’s Adventures In Paradise, but her premature death robbed us of a major talent.

(Come To My Garden has been reissued thrice in this decade, including by Janus Records in 2024, so it should be relatively easy to find and affordable.) -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

John Lennon “Walls And Bridges” (Apple, 1974)

How did we reach 2026 with not a single review of a John Lennon album on this blog?! Time to remedy that oversight.

While all of the Beatles guitarist/vocalist’s solo joints are uneven, they all include some stunners that prove the flawed genius never totally rested on his substantial laurels. For me, Lennon’s fourth LP, Walls And Bridges, boasts the highest number of essential cuts, although nothing here surpasses “I Found Out” and “Working Class Hero” from his 1970 debut solo full-length, Plastic Ono Band. (I’ll get around to reviewing that someday, Jah willing.)

Walls And Bridges reflects Lennon’s mind state during his 18-month separation from Yoko Ono—colloquially referred to as his “Lost Weekend.” After John and Yoko decided to split, Lennon—with his wife’s blessing—moved to LA with Ono’s assistant, May Pang. During this time, he was boozing heavily and engaged in some tabloid-worthy shenanigans. Realizing that this chaos wasn’t conducive to producing quality recordings, Lennon and Pang returned to New York in the spring of 1974 and he began rehearsing new songs with some excellent musicians. They included the elite rhythm section of bassist Klaus Voormann and drummer Jim Keltner (Ringo must’ve been busy), Ken Ascher (keyboards, piano), Arthur Jenkins (percussion), Nicky Hopkins (piano), Jesse Ed Davis (guitar), and Eddie Mottau (acoustic guitar). John proceeded to write some of his most enduring and interesting tunes, making WAB a return to form after the mushy blahs of 1973’s Mind Games. Maybe estrangement from the love of his life was just the creative boost that the former Beatle needed.

WAB gets off to a brilliant start with “Going Down On Love,” highlighted by Jenkins’ seductive congas. The captivating intro leads into one of John’s slinkiest grooves (aided by Voormann’s fathoms-deep bass line), as John bemoans that he’s “drowning in a sea of hatred” while “something precious and rare/disappears in thin air/and it seems so unfair.” The only Lennon solo song to top the charts, “Whatever Gets You Thru The Night” is so exuberant, horn-blasted, and desperate to vanquish sadness that it should’ve become Saturday Night Live‘s theme. I’m not a big saxophone-in-rock fan, but Bobby Keys’ tenor steals the show, and the whole thing—including guest Elton John’s piano—rollicks like a motherfucker.

Continuing in this vein, “What You Got” delivers exceptionally tough funk rock, with Lennon ruefully snarling while the band members party their ass off behind him; Jenkins’ metallic percussion taps particularly elevate the track. Lyrically, it sounds as if John’s expressing a (May) pang of regret over the Yoko hiatus. “It’s Saturday night I just gotta rip it up/Sunday morning, I just gotta give it up/come Monday, mama, I just gotta run away/you know it’s such a drag to face another day.” The near instrumental “Beef Jerky” starts like an enigmatic sci-fi-flick soundtrack, then swerves into thrusting, forward-thinking rock that foreshadows post-punk. Fun fact: One recurring guitar part recalls Paul McCartney And Wings’ “Let Me Roll It.”

A sequel of sorts to “How Do You Sleep?” from 1971’s Imagine, “Steel And Glass” is a slow-building magnum opus that blossoms into a tower of vengeful rock. Some allege that the song’s ire is directed at former Beatles manager Allen Klein, but Lennon said that that jagoff didn’t have an LA tan, as the lyrics state; so it’s more of a composite portrayal of assholes who’d wronged John. Good to know! Perhaps best of all is “#9 Dream,” a pinnacle of blissed-out, celestial rock. It sounds as if Lennon’s singing from the clouds that populated the Imagine LP cover, all of his angst dissipating in billowy strings and studio fairy dust. The jibberish lyrics in the chorus (“ah! böwakawa poussé poussé) came to Lennon in a dream, according to Pang’s autobiography, and they add a je ne sais quoi to the oneiric swirl of “#9 Dream.”

Peaking at #1 on the US albums chart, Walls And Bridges was Lennon’s last great album before his murder in 1980—a tragedy over which many (including your blogger) are still mourning. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.