Spotlight On: Bill Withers

09/11/2011

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Of all the artist selected for the Spotlight series, William Harrison Withers, Jr. is the most deceptively simple. He’s a singer that is known for singing. Yet, disciples of any “Greatest of” list probably won’t notice his absence.   Despite a Grammy-winnng career, and a masterpiece class (“Lean on Me”), William “Bill” Withers never became a rhinestone studded headliner.  Blame it on West Virginia.

He does not come from the well-trod geography boasted of by his R&B contemporaries, and his more deliberative rise came after the peak of the production powerhouses in Detroit and Memphis.  In the end, there may be something about growing up in the poverty of coal-mining country that strips bare all the scaffolding that decorates music. Many will say that West Virginia is unforgiving territory, and the lack of artifice prevents spun tales of princess being rescued, riches been found, and life being lived happily thereafter.  And the confinement to hours in dank coal mines makes sunlight, even a peek, a more appreciative commodity than rapturous or saccharine love songs.  Bill didn’t sing those songs. His style, sparse and deliberate, gave R&B fans two eternal hits: “Ain’t No Sunshine” and “Lean on Me”.  Simple lyrics, sung without pleading, pity, hollers or hosannas:

” Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone/It’s not warm when she’s away/Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone/And she’s always gone too long anytime she goes away”

He never begs.  Yet, we hear his longing for “the young thing” (the one he should be leaving alone), in every touch of of his voice to the lyrics.  Without raised praises to any formal deity, he called us in stewardship to our brothers and sisters, for their sake and for our own on his only #1 hit single, “Lean on Me”:

“Lean on me when you’re not strong/And I’ll be your friend/I’ll help you carry on/For it won’t be long/’Til I’m gonna need/Somebody to lean on”

If Bill Withers remained underrated as a solo 70’s R&B artist, he gained increased recognition following two of his jazz collaborations in the early 80’s.  “Just the Two of Us” with Grover Washington Jr. (from the iconic “Winelight” album) and “In the Name of Love” with Ralph MacDonald (who co-produced the “Winelight” album that had an instrumental version of song) offered flashbacks for fans that recognized the voice behind “Ain’t No Sunshine”, “Use Me” and “Grandma’s Hands”.  While “Just the Two of Us” would become a rotation classic on Quiet Storm and Smooth Jazz formats, it would not re-ignite Bill Withers career. Bill Withers last solo album produced only one single heard by most listeners “Oh Yeah”, from his 1985  album “Watching You, Watching Me”.

Although “Oh, Yeah” was his last radio hit, various re-interpretations of “Lean on Me” and “Ain’t No Sunshine” have surfaced throughout the last 20 years.  Yet, none has altered the permanency of his perfect delivery. While the casual listener may only know him as the voice behind those hits, fans’ pleasure includes classic songs from his 10 albums produced between 1971’s “Just As I Am’ through 1985’s “Watching You Watching Me”. What he didn’t produce in glitter and shine, he provided with simple, yet complete story telling lyrics, solid production and a voice faithful to his roots.

Enjoy

Track List:

Harlem/Use Me/I Wish You Well/It Ain’t Because of Me Baby/The Same Love that Made Me Laugh/Just the Two of Us/ In the Name of Love/Oh Yeah!/Hello Like Before/You Just Can’t Smile it Away/Hope She’ll Be Happier/Memories Are that Way/Let Me Be the One You Need/You Try to Find a Love

Funk It Fridays

09/11/2011

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“Never trust a big butt and a smile” BBD (1990)

I tripped over the melody and lost the beats.  I started this blog believing that time would bend to my wishes, and every waking moment would find me dribbling words and phrases down the lane, and sinking dope podcasts from well beyond the 3 pt. marker. That did not happen.  This is what really happened: I dabbled with mixes and playlists that bricked the backboard, and sang hollow notes of failure out of my headphones.  I had Michael Jordan hopes with Sam Bowie talent.

If Fall and Winter find abject laziness masquerading as “seasonal hibernation”, then Spring and Summer are the times to shake-ass and shovel off that extra set of hips we picked up between the Thanksgiving turkey and Mardi Gras King Cake.  So the soundtrack has got to be funky grooves that hint at unlimited potential to swing, shimmy, and stomp. In that spirit, the Aural Palace introduces Funk It Friday: a playlist to shrug-off the toejam of another work week slaving in the corporate field for paper pennies and wooden nickels.

From 9 to 5, Friday is about FUNKING IT! Project not finished?! Too damn bad. Contacts not made? Hey, it’ll hold. It’s Friday and we’re revisiting the absurdity of a 5/2 work/play ratio. We’re pulling out our “Wrap It Up”  clock and slamming it on the desk.  Define Friday by ONE question: How do I BLOW THIS JOINT?!?! We hit the ground running away from the terror-firma of our corporate cloaks. We’re ready to crop some hours from the workplace, and binge on gin and sin if we’re celebrating with the ignorant magic possessed by twentysomethings.

If Birthday #40 is just 365 winks away, the head-banging and club-hopping bass of the Friday night hang-out joints will only aggravate that arthritic knee we’ve complained about. “Funk” for us might need to be scaled and stripped down as to discourage unnecessary “old man in the club” escapades. We can’t “dig potatoes” and “pick tomatoes”, and we shouldn’t be trying to impress our little cousins by “doin the dougie” at the Family Reunion picnic. We might remember when Friday meant a committee meeting of  flyboys seeking manhood in rum & Coke while ladies squeeze a Burger King ass into tofu & granola-sized jeans. We were brave, stupid and shameless behind cheap liquor, funky beats, steamy rooms and the illusion of unlimited freedom known only to the young and the stuporous.  Lips lie, hands grope, pelvis to pelvis push..push…back into the memories of songs from the days of high-top fades and asymmetrical cuts, baggy jeans and rope chains.  But since flirtations with the past will never bring memories to fruition, with dignity, we should go quietly into the Electric Slide line and pray we don’t step on some brothas white patent leather gators. Well….maybe we ain’t that old, yet.

Hook up the I-pod and download the tunes. If you get too loud and people start staring, just tell ’em to Funk It!

Track List:

Spotlight: Phyllis Hyman

10/11/2010

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During the time of pulling music together so I could actually create a music blog, I wanted to find a way to showcase particular artist. Looking through the catalog of artists I’ve collected over the years, I recognized there were so many artists’ whose genius will never be elevated or lauded to its’ most deserving heights. Their brilliance belongs in the custody of its most intimate listeners.

Phyllis Hyman.  Under Her Spell: Greatest Hits was the first CD I ever purchased. It stood out on the shelf and I grabbed it to give my new portable CD player a test run.   She’d slid into Spike Lee’s ‘School Daze’, shining on-screen singing the jazzy “Only Be One”, and  I remembered her mid-80’s R&B hits “Old Friend” and “Living All Alone”. But that day in Sam Goody’s on 14th & F NW, all I really knew was that she could sang!  Of course through that disc, I would “discover” her career did not begin in the 80’s. Long before my medulla oblongata had been properly formed, Phyllis Hyman was driving her deep and husky voice down jazz alleys and soul music boulevards.

Unfortunately, what I would eventually understand about her importance would come only after her death. Phyllis Hyman committed suicide fifteen years ago.  In June 1995 I landed in Atlanta’s Hartsfield Airport, and as soon as my traveling party settled into my best friends’ car, she told us news reports were announcing Phyllis Hyman’s death. One of my traveling companions, a young 19 year old man, turned to me and asked, “Who is Phyllis Hyman?”.

That 4th of July weekend, Phyllis Hyman and I lived a galaxy apart.  I was 24, a fresh college grad,  “hanging out” with passion absent purpose, burning through the timeless days,  high on potential, promise and possibilities. I’d corralled family and friends to HOT-lanta because it was all we could afford while acting as if money was just another useless mistress. There were neither husbands nor wives nor children. We were completely in touch with what we wanted, and clueless about our needs.  When you’re 24, unintentionally selfish in your self-absorption and captivated by mundane passions, you still believe that everything will be better. Suicide is not your companion. Twenty-four is unearned boast, arrogance in the face of time’s inevitable limitations, a space where even mortal wounds quickly heal. However, 24 gone wrong is 45 with a scabrous map of broken dreams leading to a foraminous heart shrunk by unattended anger and fear.

Fifteen years sober youth’s drunken dreams. I can think of 1,000 reasons to evacuate my sparse 175lb plot of land mass. The ignus fatuus of immortality shone thrown accumulated failures; dreams deferred and mobile passions stalled by reality.  I recognize the depth, know the realism of  “Living All Alone”, “Ain’t You Had Enough Love”, “Waiting for the Last Tear to Fall” or “Gonna Make Changes”. Fifteen years is the difference between listening to lyrics and living them.

“I’m tired. I’m tired. Those of you that I love know who you are. May God bless you.” Those were the words of Phyllis Hymans’ suicide note.  Simple words that we all feel. Not through manipulation did she tell stories every woman will learn by heart. Whatever circumstances that did not allow her star to shine among the constellation of her contemporaries-Patti LaBelle, Stephanie Mills, Anita Baker, she absolutely sang the jagged sunshine of love’s nature.  She left for us the stories we live in our hearts: loneliness, confusion, failure coupled with the absurdity of happiness, relief and submission when the love we need is the love we receive.

Spotlight: Phyllis Hyman

(Click on highlight)

The Sunday Slowdown Episode 1: Back to the Old School

08/18/2010

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“Soft and warm, a quiet storm. Quiet as when flowers talk at break of dawn, break of dawn. A power source of tender force generatin’, radiatin’. Turn me on, turn them on.” Smokey Robinson, “Quiet Storm”

If you lived in Washington, DC, WHUR’s Melvin Lindsey was playing “Quiet Storm”,  as intro music devoted to three hours of slow tunes and love music. What Melvin Lindsey began at Howard University’s WHUR station would become a universal clock.  In Chicago, WJPC exchanged Smokey for Teddy, and every night at 7pm, WJPC would go down-tempo and slow-drag with the “Love for Two” program.  The program opened with a full play of Teddy Pendergrass’s  1985 hit single “Love 4/2”.   It signaled we could leave behind the fescennine promise that we’d be “moving on up” through devotion to the slaughterhouse 9:5 hustle. We exchanged the encumberances of our proletariat uniforms for freedom expressed through the honey soaked mercies of Minnie Riperton or  wood-aged agony of Bobby Womack.

Whether it was sensual Smokey, or Ready Teddy, the close of the evening bought the best in slow jams, relaxed soul and love songs. If you weren’t in love, you wanted to be in love. Brilliant interpretations were delivered by falsetto-singing men, alto-swearing women, and the harmonies of EWF, LTD, Enchantment, ConFunkShun, The Emotions, The Manhattans, The Dramatics.  Ear pressed to speakers, we sank into epiphoric melodies delivered on lips swollen and bruised from bursting air into horns and fingers scathed from a bare run across strings.

It was tortured love, everlasting love, forbidden love, first love, and lust. In as much as we looked for a mellow end to a hectic day, the DJ could pick a selection that drove us into the insane, darker corners of our heart. One night everything could be cured with Luther Vandross, a hot bath and a completely inoffensive glass of White Zinfandel. Other nights, rotating Enchantment’s “It’s You that I Need”, Al Green’s “How Do You Mend a Broken Heart”,  Sade’s “You’re Not the Man” and  ConFunkShun’s “Love Train” led to uncut Hennessy X.O.measured by the cup rather than the ounce, burning letters, ripping mementos, knocking phones off the hook, and waking up on a cold wooden floor in a puddle of tears and drained by a night screaming at the walls and cursing out shadows.

Forbidden and ridiculed in daylight, we seek loves’ favor with moonrise, and admit our desire for tenderness and the vulnerability of need.  Marvin or Anita, Roberta or Will, Peabo or Jill..gives us professional recitations of poetry that amplify our lamentations, exalt our desperation and scold our lust. Sounds extract mirrors from our heart, a matelasse reflection of soldered heartbreaks and triumphs.

The Pleasure Palace is incapable of matching the selections from the crates of the grates. In this inaugural episode of the Sunday Slowdown, we’ve gerrymandered a sample of the best by the best. It probably helps to be on the evening shade of 35 to enjoy this love affair with the classics. Whether these sounds make you walk backwards in your mind or it’s your freshman course in Love Songs,  experience love as it is meant to sound…..

Sunday Slowdown Ep. 1: Back to the Old School.

(Click Highlighted Words)

Spotlight: Maxwell

07/22/2010

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Don’t ever wonder…..if this brotha can still make sweat taste sweet. Whether or not he gets as much “babymaking” cred as Barry White and Teddy Pendergrass, he is one of the most original, melodic and sophisticated soul crooners of the 21st century.

In the earlier 90’s, Hip-Hop, West Coast Rap and New Jack style powered R&B radio. In 1996, Maxwell competed with Tupac, R.Kelly, Bone Thugs-N-Harmony, The Fugees, Ginuwine and Keith Sweat for positions on the Pop, Rap and R&B charts. But where his contemporaries bragged about raping, robbing, killing and accumulating street life credibility, he was crooning returning to the basics of life: love, and lust. He was Uptown afro-boho elan. He was that kid always rocking no-name gear that suddenly became the hotness just because HE was stylin’ it.  Everybody knew him without knowing a damn thing about him. He was that dude, that cat, that cool-ass mofo everybody touched but could never quite embrace. Who was this cat?

Before Maxwell, a half-smooth, quarter-cool cat could charm the naivete off a preachers daughter with some Manischewitz Blackberry Wine & Olive Garden take-out, Night Queen incense and Keith Sweat.  Despite profit-making success, neither Sweat nor his “drop your drawers” contemporary R.Kelly, possessed a true balladeers voice.  Dismissing the loving nature of his songs, Keith Sweat was accused of whining and begging his way into the bedroom. He lost favor with male fans and was ridiculed out of the R&B slow-drag spotlight.  R. Kelly, having released both 12 Play (1993) and R. Kelly (1995), was busy building bridges of contractions as he produced albums  intertwining sexually aggressive jack-n-jill rhymes with cathartic gospels. The mind behind “Bump-n-Grind” and “I Like the Crotch on You”, delivered an apogean spiritual in “I Believe I Can Fly”.

Maxwell’s Urban Hang Suite awakened the Kundalani sensuality absent from soul’s music. In truth, we were probably confused when “Ascencion (Don’t Ever Wonder)” hit R&B radio in Spring 1996. We’d ceded love songs to Luther,  and while Luthers’ genius was without question, he was not an heir to the musical complexity and depth of Marvin or Stevie. The cool heat of his delivery was no match for Barry’s baritone. His refined expressions, and fully clothed head to toe, were a counterpoint to Teddy’s Mandingo superlover persona- half-naked, chocolate sweat dripping down to crotch-straggling hot pants.  Luther was great, but  he was clean. Inasmuch as love songs are about romance, they are also about sex. In real life expression, sexuality is dirty, naughty, lustful and incoherent. Vanilla ice cream has its place, but the fully developed tongue desires more palatial adventures in dining.

Maxwell’s, fluid, mollitious and evocative debut was soul rebirthed at its most voluptuousness. It was sandalwood oil and patchouli incense mixed into Egyptian cotton sheets, stroked dry with Turkish towels, and boozy with fresh fruit and Eiswein.    He had Lenny Kravitz looks, and Smokey Robinson smooth. He gave grace and a grown-man gentleness to the new R&B movement. He was a  welcome antidote to the  heavy rotation of hard rap hegemony of R&B radio. If R. Kelly was the speed-dial “break your back-out” type that handled “meet you at the HoJo” 4am service calls, then Maxwell was The Peninsula, with imported roses, honey-n-milk baths, hot stone massages, and Grand Siecle.

From 1996 through 2001, Maxwell delivered four albums, ripe and indulgent pleasures.  After 2001’s Now, he took a hiatus long enough to make us serious wonder if he and D’Angelo were living on the same island. In his absence the rising contemporary male R&B singers would replace depth and artistry in love songs with empty, juvenile lyrics and hyper-swagger. Love-making was for metrosexuals and sissies. Real men banged it in, tore it up and wore it out.  R.Kelly ascended into unrivaled stardom.  His reductive lyrics and on-stage antics denigrated love. R&B music began to sound like a porn flick soundtrack.

When 2010 bought Maxwell back with BLACKsummers’night, erotic sighs of relief sang from between womens’ legs. Funkier than Maxwell’s fanbase might be used to, its’ first two releases, Pretty Wings &  Bad Habits, reestablished Maxwell’s  grown-man blueprint for smooth seduction.

Spotlight: Maxwell

Inauguration

07/04/2010

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You only get one first time.

The past is prologue:  This  year saw a new drop by Maxwell, an incredibly talented singer that helped define the “neo soul” music movement. (I’ll have to leave the definition, debate and discourse on the details of “neo soul” to the musicologists in our clan (or wikipedia)). His BLACKsummers’night album was his first release in 8 years. In the 8 years between his 3rd and 4th release, this “new” music pushed closer to putting 20 candles on its birthday cake.

This year Me’Shell Ndegeocello’s Plantation Lullabies turns 17, D’Angelo’s Brown Sugar turns 15, Erykah Badu’s Baduizm turns 13, Lauryn Hill’s The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill is 12, and Musiq Soulchild’s Aijuswanaseing is 10. Those of us in college when Plantation Lullabies “Dred Loc” hit the airwaves are just one birthday away from being that “old man in the club”.

Like Maxwell, many of these inaugural artists are 3 or 4 albums down (except the exceptional Ms.Hill…but she’s special). Indeed, even more artists have come up in the neo soul school and graduated with multiple Grammy’s and platinum selling albums. Regardless of whatever is written in the final definition (or whatever is written in wikipedia), neo soul has achieved recognition, respect and permanency.

Nearing the 20 year mark for the neo soul movement, AAPP goes back to what the future looked like with cuts from artists’ first albums…..

Inauguration

From the Welcome Committee

05/31/2010

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Theoretical reality is easier than Reality reality. In Theoretical Reality, after years of putting together episodes of music the really old-fashioned, antiquated way of burning CD’s, I would admit to living in the 21st century, weaponize my tapes (yeah TAPES!, I said it…TAPES!) & CD’s into this MP3 thing, blast it all into the “cloud” to share with more than just my only two friends in the entire world. In Theoretical reality, I simply collate cherry-picked songs into 30 minutes of the freshest, hottest, dopest, coolest, righteousest Soul music ever heard, anywhere, at any time.

In Reality reality, this “share my music with the world” gig is a transformative madness of passion, purpose and pain.  As an avid follower of several fantastic music blogs, I was pretty sure that my best was only half as good as their worst. Paralyzed by analysis, my dream was dying in the past tense of a 1000 yesterdays.  My riding the fence days started to really, really hurt. If I only keep thinking about doing it, then I ain’t doing it. The only thing all those yesterdays taught me was regret.

So, I  picked a day and finally grounded my dream..on the Internet.  The passion is the love for Soul and R&B. The purpose is bringing it to the audience for rejuvenation, relaxation, renaissance…or whatever else you needs it for….The pain is knowing  that no matter how good it is (and it will be good)…the roots of R&B grow into a tree so far up, with branches so heavy from talent, that I can never, ever reach the top. What I can do, what I really have to do, is keep seeding the soil.

The Aural Pleasure Palace really IS about the freshest, hottest, dopest, coolest, righteousest incarnations of Soul/R&B pulled from the fruits of the my little Soul tree.  We welcome you with the generosity of the truly humble.  We aim to serve a truly complete menu of Soul’s ripest pickings.

So, please grab a Soul tree and kick back. Oh….don’t forget to strap on your headphones.

Welcome.

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