Motown Forever

Money, that’s what I want! Barry Gordy sure earned his fair share of it over a music career that marks 50 years of the Motown Sound this year. “Money” was the first hit released on one of the myriad record labels that eventually dominated the Pop and R&B Billboard charts in the 60’s and ‘70’s. Berry wrote the song with friend and associate Janie Bradford.

Even in 1959 Gordy wasn’t new to the music industry, as he had written the ’57 hit “Lonely Teardrops” by “Mr. Excitement” Jackie Wilson who appeared on the Brunswick label. Wilson’s cousin became a Motown heavy-weight in his own right. Ever heard the name Levi Stubbs of the Four Tops?

Originally released in 1959 on the Anna label, named for his sister, “Money” was reissued on Tamla Records, a name that originated from the ‘57 #1 hit “Tammy” by Debbie Reynolds, that soon afterward signed up such top-liners as Smokey Robinson & the Miracles, Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder and The Marvelettes. From there Gordy set up a string of successful record labels with other artists that also became household names.

In the fall of 1965, when I checked the Sunday newspaper (The Detroit Free Press) for the weekly Billboard Top Ten songs, I kept seeing this Motown group on the charts that I'd never heard of with songs I wasn't familiar. Well, unbeknownst to me at the time, it was the same group that had topped the charts in the early 60's with "Shop Around" and "Mickey's Monkey" and "You've Really Got A Hold On Me". The Miracles had become Smokey Robinson & The Miracles! From then on I never lost out on any of their successes.

It seemed overnight that "The 12 Year Old Genius" Little Stevie Wonder was tranformed into a hit after hit music machine. His first song "Fingertips, Pt 2" went #1 in 1963. After "Castles in the Sand" was released in early 1964, he became Stevie Wonder and the heights of his successes were phenominal. When he released "You Are The Sunshine of My Life" in 1973 and became his third #1 song, I thought it was one of those old standard songs. Come to find out, he had penned the tune himself, afterwhich it truly became a standard and performed by dozens of artists. It was sandwiched between the release of "Superstition" (#1) and "Higher Ground" (#4). Wow! The guy oozed talent from the very beginning of his career. Totally awesome!

Motown Records itself was established in 1960 with The Supremes and The Four Tops and later with The Jackson 5, The Commodores and David Ruffin who went solo from The Temptations. Diana Ross. The label was dubbed ‘The Sound of Young America’.

With or without the Supremes, Diana Ross holds the Number 1 spot on my list of divas. Although nominated for 12 Grammy Awards, but never won.

No way Lisa Minelli should have won the 1972 Oscar for Best Actress for her performance in Cabaret. The 1972 Oscar for Best Actress should have gone to Diana for her exquisite and breathtaking performance that chronicled the life of Billie Holiday in Lady Sings the Blues. But Diana had no chance of winning. For one thing it, was her film debut.

Instead, Liza Minnelli won Best Actress for her performance in Cabaret for multiple reasons. Liza was to become the only child of two previous Oscar winners (Judy Garland and Viicente Minelli) to win an Oscar. Liza, a Hollywood insider, had the clout. No doubt she was, and still is, an extremely talented entertainer but the dimensions of Diana Ross' acting and singing were unequaled.

In 1962, Gordy Records competed against Gordy’s other labels and touted ‘It’s What’s In The Grooves That Counts’ with the likes of The Temptations, Martha & The Vandellas” and Edwin Starr.

By 1964, Soul Records (Jr. Walker & the All-Stars, Gladys Knight & The Pips, Jimmy Ruffin) and V.I.P. Records (The Spinners, The Elgins, The Velvettes) joined the foray of Gordy’s successes.

And don’t forget the all the Motor City groups that sang in rhythm and danced with perfectly choreographed moves, thanks to a guy named Charles “Cholly” Atkins.

Barry Gordy seldom signed on white artists but the one I remember is The Ones that appeared on the Motown label with the song “You Won’t See My Love”. Of course, the group was flavored with soul but it never made the Billboard Hot 100.

I wouldn’t have heard the song if weren’t for spending time searching for stations on a transistor radio not much larger, but much heavier, than a pack of cigarettes that dangled from the handle bar of my bike. I’d forever be opening the back to tweak the two screws that adjusted the antennae for better reception across the broadcast spectrum.

It seemed like a mine of gold records when I happened on CKLW, an AM station just across the Detroit River in Windsor, Ontario. It played Motown all day, every day.

One of the last successful labels of the Motown Record Corporation was Rare Earth, established in 1969 and named on behalf of the rock group Rare Earth whose first songs were Top Ten covers of The Temptations’ songs “Get Ready” and “(I Know) I’m Losing You”.

Talking about cover songs within the Motown circle of artists, I loved Gladys Knight & the Pips original hit “I Heard It Through The Grapevine” but Marvin Gaye’s version released a year later, in ‘68, is still among my most favorite songs of all time. The string of hits he had with Tammy Terrell (“Your Precious Love”, “Ain’t Nothing Like the Real Thing”, “You’re All I Need To Get By”) are of some the best duet songs ever.

When “The Prince of Motown” came out with “What’s Goin’ On” (1971) and “Let’s Get It On” (1973) it brought a whole new dimension to the world of music. Marvin Gaye brought about a social awareness through music more influential than the protest songs a half decade earlier. The Temptations started the trend in 1970 with “Psychedelic Shack” (remember the flashes of lights and colors on the Ed Sullivan Show?) and “Ball of Confusion” but Marvin took the gender of songs to a new level.

Motown cover songs? The numbers are unbelievable. Marvin Gaye sang “How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You) in ’65, Jr. Walker & the All-Stars in ’66 then, in ’75, ‘Sweet Baby James’ Taylor gave the tune a mellow tone.

Linda Ronstadt and Johnny Rivers each had their versions of “Tracks of My Tears”. Ronstadt did another Smokey Robinson song “Ooh Baby” and Johnny Rivers, “The Tracks of My Tears”. The Beatles, the Rolling Stones, did “Money, That’s What I Want” but the group that charted highest was the Kingsmen.

Every Motown singer performed his/her/their own versions of every other Motown hit.

Perhaps the most enjoyable cover song was of the Marvelette’s #1 song “Please, Mr. Postman” as performed with the sweet-as-honey voice of Karen Carpenter when she did a bouncy rendition in 1974 and made it the Carpenters’ third #1 hit.

The Motown Sound isn't nostalgic. The Motown Sound is forever.

A Little Awkie, A Little Big Man

What’s a “Little Awkie”? What about “Little Big Man”? Actually, they’re “who” questions. Both were nicknames given to me at one time or another. In both instances it took me years to figure out what the heck they meant.

Although they might sound like Indian names, they are not.

Dubbed Little Awkie by dad, it seemed quaint when I was a kid. Fortunately, it was only used in the presence of the immediate family. But I had never questioned or really thought about its importance until later in life.

The affectionate nicknames dad gave my two younger sisters were apparent. Susie was “Susie Q”. The baby of the family, Sally, was “Brat” because she was “always there” in your face chatter-talking. By the age of five, the four of us other kids had so often told her to “Shut up!” that she developed an ulcer. Imagine that! A family full of brats.

Other of my siblings had their own nicknames, all of which came from dad. “Brat” became the affectionate name for the baby in the family, Sally. The name fit perfectly. Born seven years after the next youngest family member, her presence became an annoyance to the rest of us four kids.

Sally was "always there”, chatter-talking, always wanting attention . She usually got her way because there wasn’t much anyone could do about it. It became so bad that at some point we started telling her to “shut up”, and yet she was the most loved member of the family and got plenty of attention without her intruding on our privacy for what seemed every moment of our days.

Although we reminisce about it now as a fond (?) memory and joke (?!?!) about it, Sally developed an ulcer, and I say this with guilt, at the age of five years old. Imagine that! A family of brats! Needless to say, we effectively became respectful to the needs of the Brat as dictated by mom - we had to "grin and bear it". An amount of annoyance was still there; we just didn’t yell at her anymore.

Although Susie, the closest in age to myself, was called “Susie Q”. Since Dale Hawkins had made the song of the same name in 1957, when Susie was five years old, it wasn’t entirely unique. There was also an affectionate expression that whenever Susie fell asleep with a child’s exhaustion after a long day of activities was a takeoff of another 1957 song by the Everly Brothers, “Wake up little Susie, it’s time to go to bed.” Then she’d be swept up in dad's arms and carried off to bed with hardly a stir of awareness to what was happening.

I don’t remember my older sister, Nancy, of having a nickname but as she became a young adult and brought one of her boyfriends, Roger, to family gatherings dad would refer to him as the “big dummy”. The name fit so perfectly but never used in his presence. I don’t remember dad ever calling the man by his Christian name.

Since he had a good tinge of red hair, my older and only brother, Russell, was simply called Rusty when he was little and Russ as he approached adulthood except for mom who never gave up using his given name.

It wasn’t until after dad passed away that I pondered the significance of being Little Awkie. As I thought back to when I was but a little runt, I had a tendency to be “awkward”!

The single incident I vividly remember was when, ignoring mom’s oft-said directive, “Don’t run in the house!”, I whacked my head on the wooden base of what seemed a monster of a living room chair. Now barely noticeable, a one-inch scar on my forehead is a reminder of that summer afternoon when I bawled. Even then I hadn’t learned my lesson as I went running to mom for comfort. She tended to the gash as she scolded, “I told you not to…..”

There’s another scar at the base of my chin from falling off my bike and scraping a few layers of skin onto the sidewalk. Doctor Pauley said I’d never be able to use a straight razor. Many years later, I proved him wrong when I tempted fate. I didn’t bleed to death.

What does “Little Big Man” portend? When living in Orlando, Paul, my next-door neighbor’s son, gave a friendly wave from his dad’s driveway when he name-called me those words.

Having spoken to Paul on various occasions, although he had a full head of dreadlocks, which might imply social profiling on my part, he spoke as a more intelligent communicator and a better educated professional than myself. So the labeling confused me, thinking “little” was somehow derogatory. A few years later, when I was lifting this and hefting that while landscaping the front and back yards of my home here in Spring Hill, it dawned on me how I was always doing some pretty strenuous yard work.

On one occasion Lenny, Paul’s dad, saw me struggling to uproot a monstrous, sickly, ugly ligustrum bush. Lenny came over welding a machete to help, leaving me to finish the job on my own. I accomplished the task without being a Little Awkie about it. So, although small in stature, I constantly tackle jobs that others might consider too big to handle, saving themselves time but at a cost. Well, I’d rather do it myself! Another mystery solved.

Although neither Little Awkie or Little Big Man are Indian names, there’s still a bit of American Indian in my views on life and death.

Some twenty years ago I had wisely set up a living will with instructions that in the event of being in a coma, or some other life threatening condition where I’m left unconscious, rather than pulling the plug, don’t plug in the contraptions to begin with. No going “totally tubular” for me.

Indian names or not, I’ve long envisioned myself following the American Indian tradition whereby, as I grow weak in body but still sound of mind, I should walk with nature through the wilderness along a path of Mother Earth toward oneness with the universe to rejoin the Great Spirit, or My Maker, the center of all being.

Okay, I admit the scenario might only be a fanciful myth scripted by writers for the big screen. But, to me, the idea has a certain attraction.

No last minute decisions, no end-of-life consultation, no pointless hospital charges that would take away from leaving my beneficiaries whatever life-side possessions I may have accumulated. In other words, no going “totally tubular” for me. Becoming a natural part of the food chain seems right.

I should have no regrets. There should be few tears from anyone, save in the event of an untimely, accidental death. Just remember the good times. As mom used to philosophize, “When it’s your time to go, it’s your time to go”. My dear mother was kept alive on life support until I arrived to take part in the pulling-of-the-plug ceremony. Pointless. She was already gone.

A Wanted Man

Wanted: Whereabouts of a college student from Estonia who spent the summer in Spring Hill peddling for dollars to help pay tuition costs.

In the previous blog, ‘Pedestrians, Peddlers and Other People", I related an incident that occurred while driving in an adjoining neighborhood to where I live in Spring Hill.

On the way to Lowes to pick up various plants in an effort to beautify the blandness of the front yard, I came upon an emergency-flashing Jeep driven somewhat erratically, followed the rule of the road and came to a complete halt at a stop sign, concerned that a young man riding a bicycle going around the Jeep may be in danger of a pedestrian-motor vehicle collision.

The man came within about ten feet of the front bumper of my truck. Since he proceeded with a steady pedal, I assume he felt no present danger. Still, the look on his face could have been to judge my next action. Once he was securely beyond the intersection, while still eying the Jeep that had by then come to a complete stop on the side of the road and the coast was clear, I went on my way.

As explained in the previous blog, I came to believe our eye-to-eye contact was one of recognition – he of me, not me of him.

When the encounter happened between the Jeep, the bike rider and my truck, I had no thoughts of our previous meeting. But on the way down Mariner to the intersection of Elgin, my mind came to wonder if there wasn’t something about the rider that I should have noticed. Ah, the bag strapped from the right shoulder to a secure position under the left arm should have signaled a moment of acknowledgement.

We had casually conversed on July 1st or 2nd when he had visited my home offering educational assistance programs to parents whose children may need assistance in righting some shortcomings in learning so they would successfully graduate with a high school diploma.

What I remember of our brief exchange of words centered on his age: 20 years old. Since he had a pleasant demeanor and his accent was presumably of Slavic origin, I joked, “You talk funny – where ya from?” His answer was “Estonia.” As if to challenge my knowledge of world geography, he questioned if I knew where it was. Giving a nod of awareness, my mind searched for a definitive answer. I knew it had been a satellite country under the iron-fisted control of the now defunct Soviet Union, so I gave a simple, “Yes.” I’m sure he picked up on my uncertainty but he let the subject drop without further comment.

I asked his name to which I didn’t understand so I found myself asking, not once, but twice to repeat. Even then I still couldn’t get it – isn’t that the way of us Americans who are less than worldly and seem to have this attitude that they should learn our language and not question our economic and military dominance in the world?

Since I don’t know his name, let me call him “Will” as in the movie “Good Will Hunting”. Unlike the character portrayed by Matt Damon, I’m sure his path toward higher education will prove him a successful intellectual.

Will said he’d be spending the summer in Spring Hill to help his mom with tuition fees. Not only was I a losing proposition for his product, I advised him that my immediate neighbors would be of no better source for the sale of his product.

He suggested I give him a wave of recognition if our paths should cross over the remaining weeks that he’d be in the area. Wishing him good luck, he was on his way to whatever fate had in store. Out of sight, out of mind, I proceeded with my life with no further thought of him.

If I had recognized him, a conversation would have led to a whole slew of questions of sincere interest.

Have you been successful at reaching your goal? For what age group was your material directed? Your perception of Spring Hill and its people? What of the number of vacant homes, overgrown lawns and For Sale signs? Any confrontations? Made any friends? Any thoughts on Obama? What of Toomas Hendrick, President of Estonia, and his 20% approval rating? Where will you attend college? For sure, many more questions.

It would be helpful, too, to once again ask his name and get it right.


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[I'm rather bent out of shape for not having been astitute enough to grasp ahold on a personal encounter that would have given me the opportunity to write about something other than all the droleful current events that every other buff writer has an opinion about.]