Posts Tagged ‘The Jackson 5’

In 2014 I heroically listened to every album Prince ever made. Well, I heroically came close. I listened to the first 14. I will eventually listen to the remaining 987. This was an exciting, enlightening quest for which I received 100% zero thanks. I didn’t get a link from Wikipedia. I didn’t get a lousy T-shirt from Prince. And, as always, WordPress refused to give me any money.

I remain undeterred. Why? Because it says BLOGGER on my uniform! So today I jump on my new project, the project I should’ve jumped on before I jumped on Prince: the black music of the 1970s. But first: The Rules!

Rule 1: Provincialism is good. I’m disqualifying 98% of planet Earth. Once you dive into my unscientific survey you’ll discover that almost all of these performers are from the USA. That’s because I’m from the USA. USA! USA!

Rule 2: One-hit wonders are blunders. The 1970s were a magnet for the truly awful (that was somehow spectacularly popular). For every passable tune such as Jean Knight and “Mr. Big Stuff” you get a dumpster full of this:

Billy Paul, “Me and Mrs. Jones”
Peaches & Herb, “Reunited”
Labelle, “Lady Marmalade”*
Anita Ward, “Ring My Bell”
A Taste of Honey, “Boogie Oogie Oogie”**
Hues Corporation, “Rock the Boat”
Carl Douglas, “Kung Fu Fighting”***

* This is the “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, c’est soir” song.
** I hate to put them on this list, because they were an early girl-power band with two female guitarists. Also, they looked most excellent in backless swimsuits. But their song sucks.
*** According to legend, “Kung Fu Fighting” was recorded in 10 minutes. Of course it was.

Rule 3: I make the tough calls! Reggae was obviously a vital part of the ’70s – it was a huge influence on British punk – but I don’t care for reggae so you won’t find it here. I like the blues but there’s no blues on my list because after half an hour it’s not the blues, it’s whining. There’s no rap because, while I like some rap, I don’t understand it.

Even within the genres I like – rock, psychedelia, disco, soul, R&B – I’ll have to leave out some fun people to make sure I can get through this project before 2250 A.D. Here are two:

  • Eddie Kendricks, who sang lead on The Temptations’ “Just My Imagination” and had a solo hit with “Keep on Truckin’.”
  • Johnny “Guitar” Watson, who played blues, jazz, and funk but is probably best remembered for that sentimental lament, “A Real Mother for Ya.”

Rule 4: I’m sure to forget somebody. I only remembered The Spinners about 5 minutes ago.

This list I’m about to unleash is not exhaustive, though it’s exhausting me. I might not make it past 1974. But here goes.

The ’70s begin!

On the starting line we have:

  • Marvin Gaye and worthy but lesser satellites: Al Green, Bill Withers, Donny Hathaway
  • Stevie Wonder
  • Diana Ross, but not The Supremes
  • Quincy Jones
  • Ray Charles
  • James Brown
  • George Clinton
  • Isaac Hayes, Curtis Mayfield, and Barry White
  • The Jackson 5, The Isley Brothers, and other notable families
  • Aretha Franklin
  • Jimi Hendrix
  • Sly & The Family Stone
  • Ike & Tina Turner
  • Gladys Knight & The Pips
  • Earth, Wind & Fire and Harold Melvin & The Blue Notes
  • Rufus (featuring Chaka Khan)
  • The Four Tops
  • The Spinners
  • The Temptations

Marvin Gaye and Stevie Wonder were at their height in the ’70s, and their height is somewhere north of the Matterhorn. I could write about them and never get to anyone else.

Diana Ross released 17 albums in the ’70s. (First on this list is James Brown’s brain-busting 28.) She played Billie Holiday in Lady Sings the Blues. She recorded duets with Marvin Gaye. Like a true diva, Diana Ross can’t be ignored. But I can ignore her former co-workers. This was not their decade.

I am mostly going to ignore Quincy Jones. Sure, Jones can compose, arrange, produce, conduct, and play. He brought out the best in the senior-citizen Frank Sinatra and the young-adult Michael Jackson. “Killer Joe” is one of my favorite jazz standards. But almost everything I like about him comes before 1970 or after 1979. I’m only going to mention Jones once, for an album I’m not recommending, and I hope the Lords of Kobol will forgive me.

Did Ray Charles do more in the ’70s than make those dopey commercials for Scotch Brand recording tape? Run-DMSteve investigates!

Everyone on this list owes something to James Brown. Everyone who isn’t on this list owes something to James Brown, even if they were born in a galaxy far, far away. Soul Brother #1 began the decade with the 11-minute “Get Up (I Feel Like Being a) Sex Machine,” a song that added substantially to my knowledge of how to deal with women (building on what I’d learned from Capt. Kirk and a stolen copy of South Pacific).

Brown ran out of fissionable uranium by mid-decade. His disco resurgence in 1979 doesn’t count.

George Clinton’s bands were Funkadelic and Parliament. After reacquainting myself with the few songs I knew and listening to the many I didn’t, I see him now as the secret weapon of the ’70s. Clinton has suffered the most from the way white radio playlists, particularly the Oldies and Classic Rock formats, exclude black artists.

We’ll get to Isaac Hayes, Curtis Mayfield, Donny Hathaway, Barry White, and Marvin Gaye, James Brown, and Quincy Jones again when we dive into the deep end of the Shaft/Super Fly machismo pool.

The Jackson 5 were the best family act of any color of any era. Their only contenders are Don and Phil Everly, and I think that’s a very close race. (The Isley Brothers are right behind them. Two more challengers popped up in the ’70s: The Pointer Sisters and The Staple Singers.) The J5 were superior to Sister Sledge, The Osmonds, The Carpenters, The Cowsills, The Partridge Family (OK, that’s cheating), the von Trapps, and everyone who has ever appeared on Lawrence Welk.

Jimi Hendrix existed in the ’70s for about nine months. His early death is the second-greatest tragedy in the history of pop music. (Mozart’s early death is first.)

With Aretha Franklin, it’s always 1967, I Never Loved a Man the Way I Love You is on the turntable, and you’re about to drop the needle on the first track, “Respect.” I can’t imagine the pressure this woman faced at the age of 25 with “Respect” heading her résumé. Bruce Springsteen faced the same pressure when he was 25 and had just recorded “Born to Run.”

Sylvester Stewart, aka Sly Stone, is mostly known for the music he gave us in the ’60s. By the time he got to the ’70s, his revolutionary zeal had congealed. Sadly, so had his optimism. Sly & The Family Stone’s last great album, There’s a Riot Goin’ On (1971), is as confused, cynical, and hard to listen to as The Rolling Stones’ Exile on Main Street (1972). The main difference between the two is that Stone was apathetic. The Stones were sleazy.

Sly Stone fun fact: You could transfer “Just Like a Baby” from There’s a Riot Goin’ On to Exile on Main Street and nobody would know the difference.

Most of Ike and Tina Turner’s music evaporates while you listen to it. For every “Proud Mary” or “River Deep – Mountain High” they have 20 songs that are guaranteed not to stick to your ribs. But we needed The Ike & Tina Turner Revue because they created the image of Tina Turner as a force majeure. Ms. Turner gave us one good record on her own (Private Dancer), but that’s off in the ’80s.

Gladys Knight & The Pips recorded the first version of “I Heard It Through the Grapevine,” a hymn that could make a bishop kick a hole in a stained-glass window. In the ’70s they recorded “Midnight Train to Georgia.” I still want to kick them.

Earth, Wind & Fire were just getting started and didn’t know what they wanted to be when they grew up. Same with Harold Melvin & The Blue Notes.

Rufus was funky for sure, but they’re not as good as their contemporaries War. But they’re important for giving Chaka Khan a launching pad. Khan has a voice like Tina Turner’s, with less power but more finesse at close range.

The Four Tops’ many classics are all from the ’60s. In the ’70s they recorded two albums with The Supremes (minus Diana Ross), The Magnificent Seven and The Return of the Magnificent Seven. Not enough of a draw to make me listen. Sorry kids, but as I’ve stated many times in this blog I am paid to be unfair. All right, I’m not paid, but I’m still unfair.

The Spinners have left little behind them besides the image of five guys in yummy-colored pantsuits. But they had a run of hits in the early ’70s, starting with “It’s a Shame,” which I always thought was Al Green until I finally looked it up. Duh. However, I don’t care for the rest of their easy-listening catalog, and they gave us the gift of “The Rubberband Man,” which is clearly related to the crud back in Rule 2, so though they meant well they disappear as soon as this sentence hits the period.

The Temptations recorded “Papa Was a Rollin’ Stone” in 1972. This was another show-stopper written by Norman Whitfield. The Temptations could’ve stopped right there. But they didn’t, and neither will I. I’ll be back next time with: Blaxploitation!


No disqualifications tonight. I briefly flirted with The Five Blind Boys of Alabama. They began their careers 20 years before The Four Seasons but have had barely a third as many members. I enjoyed their one appearance on a Jimi Hendrix tribute CD, but they’re gospel and that’s too far afield. Though they’re certainly better than many of the bands on our list.

Let’s go 5!

Ben Folds Five
Ben Folds plays piano, and his two colleagues don’t play guitars. This gets really monotonous after a while, and it doesn’t help that Folds’ vocal qualities are similar to Weird Al’s. On Ben Folds Five (1995), Folds mostly bangs on his piano à la Schroeder, though he opens up some on “Uncle Walter.” I do like one of these songs a lot – “Where’s Summer B.?” – but mostly I want them to hire a guitar player.

The Dave Clark Five
Awhile back I wrote that “time has not been kind to them.” I’ll stick with that.

This one probably doesn’t count, as the 5 is a stand-in for an s. But what the heck.

Deadmou5’s real name is Joel Zimmerman. He hides inside a mouse’s head because he made a fool of himself at his bar mitzvah and he’s still embarrassed. I love trance and other forms of electronica, but Deadmou5 is not one of my favorites. He can turn out a classic hypnotic number like “I Remember” (Random Album Title, 2008) and he can also be repetitious and annoying, frequently in the same song. People say the same things about me, or maybe just the “repetitious and annoying” part.

Five Finger Death Punch
Don’t throw up your rawkfist just yet. 5FDP is a hard-core thrash outfit with a knack for making all of their pummeling songs sound exactly the same. Vocalist Ivan “Ghost” Moody thinks he’s narrating a horror movie. One of the two super-shredding guitarists is from Hungary – they have a lot of barely checked aggression there after decades of Soviet rule. Their first album was The Way of the Fist (2007); the follow-up was War Is the Answer (2009). Of course they were.

Five for Fighting
Another pianist, though this one likes guitars. John Ondrasik writes self-reflective songs that make me the Chairman of the Bored. At least Ben Folds gets up in my face. Ondrasik is too mellow for a confrontation. Has had two hits this century: “Superman (It’s Not Easy),” which is delicate and boring, and “100 Years,” which is syrupy and boring. Jim Croce without the sense of humor.

Five Man Electrical Band
A Canadian band that hit the big time with the anti-establishment “Signs” (1969). Today the singer railing against all the signs he sees forbidding this or restricting that sounds like a self-righteous little prick. Nice guitar work, though. They also did a song called “It Never Rains on Maple Lane,” which isn’t exactly good but it does make me imagine Harry Nilsson collaborating with George Harrison in 1970.

Maroon 5
It’s difficult to escape singer and TV personality Adam Levine these days. He has a very long neck. I wonder if he’s ever thought of hiding inside a mouse’s head? Probably not.

I’m not crazy about Levine’s near-falsetto singing, but Maroon 5’s music is an entertaining merger of alternative rock with the mainstream and a dash of hip hop. They’re not innovators, but they know how to get you moving. The Monkees could’ve recorded It Won’t Be Soon Before Long (2007) if they’d had the benefit of 30 years of video culture to build on.

“Kick out the jams, motherfuckers!” Wayne Kramer yells at the beginning of Kick Out the Jams (1969), and there follows an earthquake that could easily be called the birth of punk. This is an angry album that I still find hard to listen to, and yet there are moments of quiet harmonizing – these boys grew up in Motown, after all. Must’ve been something in the air: another punk forerunner, The Stooges, came out of Detroit at the same time.

Seattleite Floyd Rose was a guitar-tech god of the early ’80s who invented a locking tremelo system. This keeps guitars in tune no matter how trembling the tremelo. We can thank Rose for his invention and ignore his music – 1984’s Steel the Light is routine metal and uninspired singing.

The 5th Dimension
Nixon invited these folks to the White House, which shows you how inoffensive they were. But if you want to experience the hippie milieu, “Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In” will do it for you at light speed. They usually let too much sunshine in for me; exhibits A, B, and C are “Up, Up and Away,” “Stoned Soul Picnic,” and “Wedding Bell Blues.”

“One Less Bell to Answer” is a fun song to act out, though I find that people start hitting me before I get much beyond the first line.

The Five Satins
Bobo Holloman was a pitcher who threw a no-hitter in his first major-league appearance in 1953. He won two more games, lost seven, and disappeared. The Five Satins were something like that. Their very first single was “In the Still of the Night,” which right out of the box made them the most famous doo wop act ever. And then nothing much happened. They were immortalized by Paul Simon in “Rene and Georgette Magritte with Their Dog After the War”:

Easily losing their evening clothes
They danced by the light of the moon
To the Penguins, the Moonglows
The Orioles, The Five Satins

The deep forbidden music
They’d been longing for
Rene and Georgette Magritte
With their dog after the war

The Jackson 5
Say this name and we think of “Puppy Love” and “ABC,” or else we think of the family’s sad history. But The Jackson 5 were so much more, as they proved early on with “I’ll Be There” and “Never Can Say Goodbye” and as you can tell from two of their last major albums, Destiny (1978) and Triumph (1980). “Lovely One” from Triumph could easily have won a place on Thriller. The Jackson 5’s contemporaries The Osmonds were a pebble on their shoe.

The Jackson family had problems similar to The Monkees, in that their label refused to let them write or play their own music. The Jackson 5 was Motown’s last great group, but their relationship ended in a bitter legal struggle, a new label, and a change of name to The Jacksons. This at last freed the brothers – and allowed them to grow up.

Victory (1984), I just learned, is the only album that features all six Jackson brothers. (But not Janet.) I didn’t know there were six. It’s not as good as Triumph, unfortunately. Victory also has the bizarre “State of Shock,” which pairs Michael with Mick Jagger. Weird Al’s parody was better.

We Five
Here in the 5s, the two bands that are the farthest apart are Five Finger Death Punch and We Five. Five Finger Death Punch could sprinkle We Five on their pancakes and never notice the difference. I can best describe We Five as The Byrds after they were fixed at the vet’s. In 1966 they turned “Cast Your Fate to the Wind” into a cure for insomnia and then had a hit with Ian & Sylvia’s “You Were on My Mind.” (The British egomaniac Crispian St. Peters, who claimed he could write better than Lennon and McCartney, also had a hit with “You Were on My Mind.”)

These groupings will now start getting smaller. Tomorrow we’ll probably tackle numbers 6 through 10. Thanks as always for following along!