Back in the fall of 1981 when I was in my first semester at Columbia College, I became friends with a fellow from a Chicagoland suburb.
He was a dyed-in-the-wool Rolling Stones fan. One afternoon their version of “Just My Imagination” played on the radio near us. I recall mentioning it was a Temptations cover, and with some level of indignation, he told me that Jagger and Richards wrote EVERY song The Stones performed.
I was shocked. We were decades away from being able to Google such matters at the moment. I was forced to leave him to the dubious opinion. I can only hope in the decades since that he’s come to know better.
Not only was that song a cover but the Rolling Stones, for better or worse, have been the heralds of Blues and R&B for generations of Americans who would rather enjoy Black music through the filter of whiteness.
Here is AfroStones, a collection of essential songs performed by Black artists that the Rolling Stones covered.
You will find Chuck Berry, Robert Johnson, The Drifters, and Solomon Burke to name a few. Throughout this collection, the original songs are presented back to back with the Stone’s covers.
Needless to say, along with touring as the opening act for Little Richard, the Stones learned a lot from these songs and built a 50-year career on them.
Mick Jagger has long acknowledged his debt to Black America, but is not a one-way street. This collection also features Black artists covering the Stones.
Sharon Jones, Musiq Soulchild, Etta James, and others. Merry Clayton, who’s featured prominently on “Gimme Shelter”, is present with her own version of the Stones classic.
I’ve also included tracks by De La Soul, Little Simz, Snoop Dogg, and others that feature samples of their music.
As Muddy Waters said in an interview, “They stole my music, but they gave me my name.” Yet he also provided them with their name when they adopted the title of his song, “Rollin’ Stone.”
I’m back with another collection in my “Afro” playlist series — “AfroBeatles.”
Earlier this month the first new Beatles song “Now And Then” dropped with the help of master filmmaker, Peter Jackson, and the surviving members. It is the first new release from the group in 45 years.
The Beatles are rightly known for the unmatched songwriting partnership of John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Towards their later years, George Harrison and Ringo Starr also pitched in with originals. Together, the group created a body of work that inspired no shortage of covers.
Few songwriters have been so thoroughly covered as Lennon/McCartney, and the diversity of Beatles covers is a tribute to their indelible mark on pop music. Here at Good Black News, we are going to focus on the covers by Black artists around the world.
The Beatles (and The Rolling Stones) cut their teeth opening for Little Richard; both bands came away forever altered by his singing style and stage presence.
Paul McCartney and Mick Jagger have made no secret of biting his vocal stylings and dance moves. When it came to doing covers they overt about acknowledging it.
On their first five albums of 1963-1965, almost all of the covers were originally recorded by Black soul artists, including Arthur Alexander’s “Anna (Go To Him)”, The Cookies’ “Chains”, The Shirelles’ “Boys” & “Baby It’s You”, The Top Notes’ “Twist & Shout”, The Marvelettes’ “Please Mr. Postman”, The Miracles’ “You Really Got A Hold On Me”, The Donays’ “Devil In Her Heart”, Barrett Strong’s “Money (That’s What I Want)” and Larry Williams’ “Dizzy Miss Lizzy.”
They are all included here, including their versions of Chuck Berry, Little Richard, and other greats of Soul giants, though the lion’s share of the collection is devoted to R&B, reggae, ska, and jazz covers of Beatles songs.
Here are hours of Beatles music by Stevie Wonder, Bill Withers, Nina Simone, Marica Griffiths, Gary Clark, Jr., and so many others. Please enjoy AfroBeatles!!
Happy springtime from your friend and selector, Marlon!
Here’s a freewheeling playlist, and a seemingly random collection of tunes. Though what they all have in common is famous folks, sometimes uncredited, singing backup.
In some cases it is an established artist leading a hand, like Stevie Wonder contributing to Jermaine Jackson’s “Let’s Get Serious,” or a then-unknown protege like Lou Rawls singing behind his childhood pal Sam Cooke on “Bring It On Home To Me.”
In some tracks, you won’t be able to pick them out. Though in others you will never be able to hear the same again without recognizing them. Here is a breakdown of each song and who’s helping out in the background. Enjoy!
As part of Good Black News’ celebration of African-American Music Appreciation Month (#AAMAM), we are taking some time to honor quality artists whose music has nevertheless remained unappreciated. Last week, we brought you a playlist from Ronnie Dyson.
This week we’d like to introduce/re-introduce you to Merry Clayton.
Back in March 2014, as she was experiencing 50 years in the music business, legendary session singer Merry Clayton got one more chance at stardom when the documentary 20 Feet From Stardom, about the world’s most renowned backup singers, won the Best Documentary Oscar.
The doc brought renewed attention to performers such as Lisa Fischer, Judith Hill, Gloria Jones, and Clayton – whose voices you’ve undoubtedly heard, but whose names are a little less than familiar.
In the early ‘60s, Merry (who got her name because she was born on Christmas day) launched into a music career as a young teen, cutting a few one-off soul singles, and singing duet “Who Can I Count On?” with then 26 year-old pop hitmaker Bobby Darin when she was just a 14 year-old girl with a commanding voice.
Merry Clayton
By the late ‘60s, Merry Clayton’s role as a star backup singer hit its stride on The Rolling Stones’ “Gimme Shelter” opposite Mick Jagger. Her cries of “Rape, Murder/It’s just a shot away” are known to any classic rock fan. The story goes that she got the random session call late at night from one of the song’s producers during an all-night mixing session – and showed up in curlers, heavily pregnant, belting out the iconic vocals in just a few takes before heading back home (where she subsequently suffered a miscarriage).
During that same era, Merry Clayton was also one of the backup crew on countless legendary records by Carole King, Joe Cocker, Barbra Streisand, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Linda Ronstadt, Billy Preston, Tori Amos, and, as recently as 2015, Coldplay.
Her prominent rock backup turns earned the attention of rock music producer/impresario Lou Adler, who signed her to his Ode Records label (most famous for Carole King’s Tapestry LP). In 1972, she further cemented her rock bonafides by appearing as The Acid Queen in the first London stage production of The Who’s rock opera, Tommy.
The very enjoyable 20 Feet (you can check it out on Netflix right now) essentially argued that if only these women had gotten the chance, they could have been big stars.
Before reading, please understand the deep degree to which I am an Aretha Franklin fan. I have been in rapture since I was a teen grooving to “Jump To It,” “I Knew You Were Waiting (For Me),” “Think,” and, of course, “Respect.” My devotion to her voice and musicianship only intensified when I gained full access to her catalog when I DJ’d for my college radio station. I went all the way in, past her Arista recordings, back and through her Chess, Columbia and Atlantic LPs, and never came back out.
I played her records over and over, never singing along, so as not to disrespect or sully the divinity I was taking in. Back then, during this time of discovery of the breadth of Aretha’s genius, it would have been as rude as chatting during a sermon. I could go on – there is so much more Aretha stanning in my history including the full day spent watching every hour, minute and second of her funeral – but it’s enough to get the picture.
I am in, down, and for all things Aretha.
So a few years ago when I heard about film footage existing of Aretha recording her 1972 gospel masterpiece “Amazing Grace” in Los Angeles at Reverend James Cleveland‘s New Temple Missionary Baptist Church with the Southern California Community Choir, shot over two nights by Sydney Pollack (“Tootsie,” “The Way We Were,” “The Firm”), I was ecstatic.
It didn’t get released in conjunction with the album’s 1972 release as originally planned by Warner Bros. because the film’s recording was mishandled. Pollack, who died in 2008, did not use clapper boards, a crucial tool in matching sound with filmed images in the pre-digital era. There were 20 hours of raw footage shot by five 16-millimeter cameras to sync, so the project got shelved, until the footage was re-discovered over three decades later.
The movie was then set to screen at several prominent film festivals, but Franklin herself sued to stop it from being released. So I checked my thirst out of loyalty and stood by the Queen’s side, even if it meant never seeing what I was sure would be a Technicolor feast of mind-blowing artistry.
I brightened when I heard Aretha’s beef with the project was not about its content – she reportedly loved the content – it was about the money. Okay, cool – Aretha wanted her coins as well as her respect. I hoped it would all settle quickly, because as much as a person can be in love with her recordings, watching Aretha live, doing her thing, has always been where it’s at.
Not long after her passing, producer Alan Elliott screened “Amazing Grace” for Franklin’s family and got the family’s approval for release. It was picked up by NEON Studios for North American distribution and is slated to be in theaters in the early part of this year. But when I got a chance to see the film Thursday in Los Angeles on Opening Night of the 27th Annual Pan African Film Festival (#PAFF), I jumped to it.
Even though I saw it with an audience so fully there for it, and even with my freely admitted pre-disposition towards loving it, viewing “Amazing Grace” is a sensorial experience that exceeds all expectations. This “making of” documentary is a pure, raw American musical treasure that should go down, like Aretha, as the greatest of its ilk.
In case you’ve never heard the “Amazing Grace” double album or perhaps only know Aretha from Inaugural Hat or “Great Gowns, Beautiful Gowns” Taylor Swift memes, in 1972, Aretha Franklin is 29 and at the absolute height of her recording success, fame and vocal prowess.
As Tirrell D. Whittley, another of the film’s producers, put it during the Q&A that followed its #PAFF screening, Aretha was “it” back then, the Beyoncé of her time. And while at that height, Aretha decided to honor and commune with the roots from which her unparalleled artistry grew – church music.
Listening to the “Amazing Grace” LP (still the best-selling gospel album of all time), I always imagined it was a packed Sunday morning service where Aretha was singing with a fully-robed choir joyfully bouncing in step behind her. But what the film shows you instead is nighttime, a handful of white guys with mics, wires and cameras running around, and maybe 80-90 audience members, several of them likely not even New Temple congregants (Mick Jagger and Charlie Watts from the Rolling Stones are there one night, as are gospel great Clara Ward and her mother, Mother Ward).
Aretha Franklin from the film “Amazing Grace”
The backing choir, directed with great aptitude and verve by the lively Alexander Hamilton, does not wear church robes but all-black clothing underneath Vegas-style sparkly silver vests. They look more like they are at a local talent competition than a service, and they stay seated during most of the recording. Aretha alone is robed – the first night in a long, white, bejeweled caftan and the second in a beautiful chartreuse paisley one.
It is clear from her commanding sashays down the church aisle as she enters upon introduction from Rev. Cleveland, that Aretha is not only in church, but there to put in work. On the second night Aretha enters in one of her signature fur coats. Her walk, steps, bearing are those of a queen, unashamedly in charge and full of femininity. She touches outreached hands but intentionally keeps moving at her own pace.
While Cleveland plays host with avuncular affability as he encourages the crowd from the pulpit and piano, and Aretha’s father Rev. C.L. Franklin is solicited to offer remarks, Aretha herself barely talks during either session – seemingly conserving her voice between songs. When she does talk it’s brief and at whisper level.
I think it’s both the truth of what happened those nights as well as a great dramatic device – Aretha’s singing literally speaks for her. She has such sharp focus on what she is doing and trying to achieve – Aretha comes across not as a guileless prodigy, but as a hard-working, brilliant young woman who fully knows what she is capable of and what it takes to tap into and employ her superlative gift. She is also connected enough to know when to give in to it and allow a higher power work through her.
Seeing the process with your own eyes makes it all the more impactful and palpable. When Aretha sits down at the piano and starts in on “Wholy Holy,” there is nothing to do but watch in awe. And at a certain point, song after great song, it hits you – as you take in the old-school microphones, the physical dynamics of the space and people in it, that the sound is, in a word, superb. I don’t know if it’s from remastering with present-day technology or because that audio was recorded so well back in 1972, but the depth and clarity of the music and the vocal responses to it are an aural delicacy.
The prosaic nature of the church space itself sits in humble, human contrast to the sublimeness occurring inside it. The church is not so much majestic as it is makeshift – and in the best way. The mural of Jesus on the wall behind the pulpit – let’s just say it’s barely a notch above paint-by-numbers. But looking at that amateur effort behind the woman who is evocatively singing “How I Got Over” and “What A Friend We Have In Jesus” in His name – it’s almost as if Mural Jesus sags in admission that no one could have painted an image to match the artistry and meditation of Aretha.
This is most evident during Aretha’s performance of the title track “Amazing Grace” – as she reaches higher and higher, the shouting and clapping from the audience rises and rises – people literally stand, fall, cry, and scream. Rev. Cleveland himself is so overcome by the power and beauty of what Aretha is delivering that he stops playing the piano so he can collect himself.
It’s such an incredible moment to watch – even the man running the show, a seasoned church pro – is overwhelmed and touched, all his pomp crumbling down under literal amazing grace. Many of us know that moment – when you witness something so superlative and divine, you can do nothing more than be in its presence and be thankful you exist to receive it.
The other indelible highlight in the film is Aretha’s delivery/deliverance of/during “Never Grow Old.” I have watched countless clips of Aretha performing live, at all ages and stages of her career. She is always professional and on point, but when she herself catches the spirit? There! Is! Nothing! Like! It!
Aretha is at the piano during “Never Grow Old” as you see it happening. She is so channelled and so in it that the spirit takes over the tempo, the piano, the choir, and several people in the audience. There is spirit dancing – Mother Ward falls out – an actual white towel is thrown in!
And as the towel comes towards camera, the audience watching the movie burst into laughter as did I, because it is perfect punctuation to what we were all feeling at that moment. We were in thrall and surrender to the power, the genius, the spirit, the joy that is flowing through Aretha Louise Franklin.
Even as you feel the heat, the light, the literal sweat on her brow coming at you through the screen, Aretha’s voice makes you shiver down to your bones.
The only song that doesn’t come across as powerful on film as it does on the record is “Mary Don’t You Weep.” According to producer Elliott, they did not have full visual coverage of “Mary” in the church, so they could not match it to the audio from the LP. What we do hear of “Mary” is still worthy of our time, suffering mainly from comparison to the oomph and punch so many of the other visually-realized songs have, including lesser-known songs such as “Climbing Higher Mountains” and “Precious Memories.”
But all in all, after dwelling for over 45 years in obscurity, the fact that the general public will finally get to see the best singer in the world recording the best gospel album of all time while communing in the most prolific and sustaining pillar of African-American society – the church – is the real blessing that needs to be recognized.
Even if you don’t know or revere Franklin’s work like I do but love any powerhouse singer from last 50 years, or just love music, you should see this film. For it proves without a doubt that since the sixties, all roads to enthralling, singular vocal ability, agility, facility and feeling lead back to one root, one person, one singer – Aretha. And her preternatural gift is never in finer form and potency than it is in “Amazing Grace.”
“Mr. Dynamite: The Rise of James Brown,” a documentary by Alex Gibney, is being shown Monday on HBO. (Credit: Walter Iooss Jr./Getty Images)
There is one interview I remember from my early days as a reporter, and I often recite a line from it because it’s the best answer I’ve ever gotten and ever will get. Naturally, it came from James Brown.
It was in 1989, when he was in prison for, among other things, capping a long bout of partying with a high-speed chase through Georgia and South Carolina that ended only after police officers shot out his tires.
I was a Time magazine reporter, and he was working in the prison cafeteria. The warden let me wave through a window at Brown as he wiped down tables in a cook’s white coat and cap, embellished by purple wraparound sunglasses and matching scarf. Brown was allowed to speak by phone.
I didn’t even know where to begin, so I asked how he was feeling. “I’m well rested now,” he said, and waited a beat. “But I miss being tired.”
That reply is almost reason enough for watching “Mr. Dynamite: The Rise of James Brown,” an HBO documentary directed by Alex Gibney. But there are plenty of others. This is a smart, informative and compassionate look at the artist known as the Godfather of Soul, whose music changed America.
“Mr. Dynamite” is an informative and compassionate look at James Brown, whose R&B, soul and funk altered American music. CreditEmilio Grossi/HBO
Brown, who died in 2006, was a fascinating figure. Just this year, he inspired a biographical movie, “Get On Up,” with Chadwick Boseman as Brown, and there have been a steady stream of biographies, including two memoirs that he wrote with co-authors.
He was a magnetic, kinetic master of R&B, soul and funk, with roots in gospel and big-band music. He was a beloved performer and an often terrible boss and violent husband. (His third wife, Adrienne Lois Rodriguez, told me he once laid out her mink coat on the bed and then shot it.) He played an important role at critical moments in the civil rights movement and also shocked his fans by supporting Richard M. Nixon in 1972.
Of course, there is also the music. The film opens with Brown sweating through a muscle T-shirt and chanting the opening words of “Soul Power” to a frenzied audience at the Olympia in Paris in 1971.
The narrative threads his scratch-poor boyhood dancing for nickels in the segregated South to his lasting influence on rock, hip-hop and rap. The film doesn’t dwell on his sad last days, but it does address his many contradictions — personal, musical and political. All of it is set to the beat of his music, which gets the last word.
Chadwick Boseman as Brown in the new biopic “Get On Up.” (Credit: D Stevens/Universal Studios)
It’s just the kind of movie clip YouTube was made for. In the 1965 Frankie Avalon vehicle,“Ski Party,” James Brownand his backing vocal group, the Famous Flames, enter a ski lodge after rescuing a frozen reveler. Resplendent in a white-and-red sweater, tight black slacks, black pointy-toed shoes and a regal pompadour, Brown performs “I Got You (I Feel Good),” giving the lily-white crowd of clapping skiers a taste of the showmanship that had made him a star on the so-called “chitlin circuit” among blacks. Even in a movie as disposable as “Ski Party,” Brown turned a corny scene into genuine entertainment.
In the biopic “Get On Up,” opening Friday, the filmmakers recreate this moment, trying to see it from Brown’s point of view. While he glides through his steps, we see slow-motion shots of the listeners as if they were creatures from another, whiter planet, one Brown is reluctantly visiting in hopes of reaching a wider audience. In that scene, Brown dances off the set. In the new film, he does a split but doesn’t come up, apparently having ripped his pants. The new moment is slightly comic but undercuts Brown’s mastery.
Depicting James Brown on screen has always been a seductive proposition. As one of the greatest stage performers of the 20th century, he has inspired documentarians, playwrights, comedians and other artists who see the outlines of his greatness. But capturing the man inside, and the meaning of his life, is a tricky business.
Brown at the Roseland Ballroom in New York in 2004.CreditFrank Micelotta/Getty Images
There was a fluidity to his identity that was reflected in his many stage nicknames: Mr. Dynamite, the hardest working man in show business, Soul Brother No. 1, the Godfather of Soul and the Original Disco Man, as he variously billed himself. All enduring pop stars have the ability to shift with the culture, but Brown’s moves — from staunch integrationist to proto-black nationalist and back, from civil rights role model to wife beater, from disciplined bandleader to drug addict — suggest an inner turmoil that belied his outer confidence. Shortly after his death, I helped edit a collection of articles that spanned Brown’s long career, and in reading the pieces was struck by how many journalists saw the contours of the man but struggled to truly penetrate his psyche. With a feature film about to arrive and a coming documentary, it’s time to take stock of this imposing figure.
Brown, who died on Christmas Day 2006, began his career in the ’50s under the spell of Little Richard and ended it as a major influence on current singer-dancers like Usher and Chris Brown. Michael Jackson and Prince, of course, were acolytes. Reared on gospel, blues and jazz, Brown was a dominant force in the soul ’60s, created funk, inspired disco and laid hip-hop’s foundation with his beats.
As important as Brown was on vinyl, his stage show and personality are legendary: Tilting a mike stand far forward and, before it hit the stage, pulling it back via the cord. Dropping into and rising out of splits. Feigning exhaustion and donning a regal cape before returning to sing again. Executing every new dance from the ’60s to the ’80s with deft steps and body control made Brown a dominant figure during an explosive era for pop music.
by Marlon West (FB: 
