Once Motown broke through, the door was kicked open and, the Philly Sound a more raw resonant sound rose up to compete with Gordy and his lovesick crooners. Soul music poured in from everywhere, Chicago, New York, DC. Martha and the Vandellas were “Calling out around the world,” asking “are you ready for a brand new beat.” We were, but everything changed in November 1963.As a teen growing up in the contradiction of the 50’s and 60’s music more than anything defined the times and told our story. To this day I remember what was playing on the radio the day John F Kennedy was shot. It’s a song that still makes me cry and yet gives me hope. Curtis Mayfield’s “People Get Ready.” The melody is slow and sad, but the lyrics are hopeful:
“People get ready, there's a train comin'You don't need no baggage, you just get on board
All you need is faith to hear the diesels hummin'
You don't need no ticket you just thank the lord
People get ready, there's a train to Jordan
Picking up passengers coast to coast
Faith is the key, open the doors and board them
There's hope for all among those loved the most
There ain't no room for the hopeless sinner whom would hurt all mankind
Just to save his own
Have pity on those whose chances grow thinner
For there is no hiding place against the kingdoms throne
People get ready there's a train comin'
You don't need no baggage, just get on board
All you need is faith to hear the diesels hummin'
You don't need no ticket, just thank the lord.”
As the decade continued we tried to maintain our innocence. Detroit was as much a dance town as a musical town. We learned how to Detroit Bop, Social and Ballroom along with the shing-a-ling, watusi, and cool jerk. At the same time colored people became black people, words like civil rights and we shall overcome crept into our vocabulary. Dr. King was marching across the south and the swell of pride was written into soul music. When King was shot, in 1968, James Brown’s “Say it Loud, I’m Black and I’m Proud,” surged to number one. The lyrics were written to make a strong statement of pride not hatred; and Brown was able to make his statement of black pride without being disrespectful to whites, he even sang it on American Bandstand. “Say it loud,” became an anthem that spurred a generation to want to live up to the proclamation once again we all sang along.
Woodstock occurred in 1969 most performers fell under the stupor of drugs and stumbled through the 70s. The Motown sound was beginning to wane. Marijuana, heroin, and LSD got into the best homes; good kids from good homes got hooked. Music was about to evolve once again. The beat and the lyrics became hard driving. Curtis Mayfield was still the troubadour commenting on the times. Mayfield had decided, “If there’s A Hell below, We’re all Gonna Go.” Followed by “Pusherman,” and “Freddie’s Dead.’ And he was right; drugs were on everyone’s mind. The once clean cut, mainstream Temptations succumbed and lifted off to “Cloud Nine,” Grace Slick really believed she was 10 feet tall, and Pink Floyd was “Comfortably Numb.” Precious few made it out of the 70s Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Mama Cass Elliott all perished. You knew the good times were over when the Supremes broke up.
The 80’s was the “Me,” generation the music reflected the hedonism of the times. Rick James debuted “She a Super Freak,” in 1981 and unleashed the thankfully short lived disco era. Donna Summer had an orgasm right on the radio. She was a bad girl. Patti Labelle and the Blue Bells sang song so dirty it had to be song in French.
Then along came the Sugar Hill Gang. Hip Hop had arrived. It started off innocently enough party songs spoken rhythmically over music breaks. But I was a woman now with children of my own. As a child I used to sing Motown hits with my father, as a Mother I couldn’t sing disco with my sons. I took my son to see, Grandmaster Flash and the Furious five, Curtis Blow, and Melle Mel in Kalamazoo, MI. They were booed off the stage, but this wasn’t the sign of times to come. They would recover and I believe set R&B and soul music on a sad journey of no return.
Hip Hop splintered and the upbeat the raps of Doug E Fresh, MC Lyte and Queen Latifah was pushed aside by Gangsta Rap, and in my opinion its vile, tasteless, meaningless lyrics poisoned an entire generation of music makers. For the first time in my life I heard a woman being referred to as a “bitch,” over the radio no less. I had my children in the car. I was stung, embarrassed, and ashamed. I didn’t know what to make of it. These new young, angry troubadours were only describing life on the streets they said, the streets are mean, dirty and full of death they said. We may not live through the day, we live for the moment, our fathers are gone, our mothers are bitches, our women are whores and we are their pimps, our music reflects this, they said.
But wasn’t the 60s mean, dirty and full of death? JFK was shot in 1963 and the bloodletting didn’t stop until Bobby Kennedy’s death in 1968. I saw people being beaten in the streets, hosed down and attacked by dogs, little girls blown to bits, Kent State, the draft, and Vietnam and happened during the 60s. Yet our music was full of hope. Curtis Mayfield told us to “Keep on Pushing,” and “We’re a Winner,” and as black women we were all “Miss Black America.” We asked for and got RESPECT. Gangsta Rap killed hope. I’m a grandmother now; and for a long time I was afraid to even turn on the radio with my grandkids in the car. Afraid of what they might hear, of how my granddaughters would feel about themselves being referred to as bitches and whores.
I visited my grandchildren several times a year, making the trip by car from Detroit to Connecticut, taking the shortcut across Canada and upper state New York. You can continue to receive the Motown stations for about 40 miles into Canada after that it became a musical wasteland. You had to bring your own music with you, or heaven help you during the long 12 hour trip between Detroit and Hartford.
On one of my trips down the mountains of upstate New York I broke down and tuned the radio to a local country station. To my surprise I enjoyed every tune I heard. Especially a tune by Rodney Atkins, “If You’re Going Through Hell,” the tune and the lyrics were infectious I actually found myself singing along.
Woodstock occurred in 1969 most performers fell under the stupor of drugs and stumbled through the 70s. The Motown sound was beginning to wane. Marijuana, heroin, and LSD got into the best homes; good kids from good homes got hooked. Music was about to evolve once again. The beat and the lyrics became hard driving. Curtis Mayfield was still the troubadour commenting on the times. Mayfield had decided, “If there’s A Hell below, We’re all Gonna Go.” Followed by “Pusherman,” and “Freddie’s Dead.’ And he was right; drugs were on everyone’s mind. The once clean cut, mainstream Temptations succumbed and lifted off to “Cloud Nine,” Grace Slick really believed she was 10 feet tall, and Pink Floyd was “Comfortably Numb.” Precious few made it out of the 70s Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Mama Cass Elliott all perished. You knew the good times were over when the Supremes broke up.
The 80’s was the “Me,” generation the music reflected the hedonism of the times. Rick James debuted “She a Super Freak,” in 1981 and unleashed the thankfully short lived disco era. Donna Summer had an orgasm right on the radio. She was a bad girl. Patti Labelle and the Blue Bells sang song so dirty it had to be song in French.
Then along came the Sugar Hill Gang. Hip Hop had arrived. It started off innocently enough party songs spoken rhythmically over music breaks. But I was a woman now with children of my own. As a child I used to sing Motown hits with my father, as a Mother I couldn’t sing disco with my sons. I took my son to see, Grandmaster Flash and the Furious five, Curtis Blow, and Melle Mel in Kalamazoo, MI. They were booed off the stage, but this wasn’t the sign of times to come. They would recover and I believe set R&B and soul music on a sad journey of no return.
Hip Hop splintered and the upbeat the raps of Doug E Fresh, MC Lyte and Queen Latifah was pushed aside by Gangsta Rap, and in my opinion its vile, tasteless, meaningless lyrics poisoned an entire generation of music makers. For the first time in my life I heard a woman being referred to as a “bitch,” over the radio no less. I had my children in the car. I was stung, embarrassed, and ashamed. I didn’t know what to make of it. These new young, angry troubadours were only describing life on the streets they said, the streets are mean, dirty and full of death they said. We may not live through the day, we live for the moment, our fathers are gone, our mothers are bitches, our women are whores and we are their pimps, our music reflects this, they said.
But wasn’t the 60s mean, dirty and full of death? JFK was shot in 1963 and the bloodletting didn’t stop until Bobby Kennedy’s death in 1968. I saw people being beaten in the streets, hosed down and attacked by dogs, little girls blown to bits, Kent State, the draft, and Vietnam and happened during the 60s. Yet our music was full of hope. Curtis Mayfield told us to “Keep on Pushing,” and “We’re a Winner,” and as black women we were all “Miss Black America.” We asked for and got RESPECT. Gangsta Rap killed hope. I’m a grandmother now; and for a long time I was afraid to even turn on the radio with my grandkids in the car. Afraid of what they might hear, of how my granddaughters would feel about themselves being referred to as bitches and whores.
I visited my grandchildren several times a year, making the trip by car from Detroit to Connecticut, taking the shortcut across Canada and upper state New York. You can continue to receive the Motown stations for about 40 miles into Canada after that it became a musical wasteland. You had to bring your own music with you, or heaven help you during the long 12 hour trip between Detroit and Hartford.
On one of my trips down the mountains of upstate New York I broke down and tuned the radio to a local country station. To my surprise I enjoyed every tune I heard. Especially a tune by Rodney Atkins, “If You’re Going Through Hell,” the tune and the lyrics were infectious I actually found myself singing along.You step off the straight and narrow
And you don't know where you are
Used the needle of your compass, to sew up your broken heart
Ask directions from a genie in a bottle of jim beam
And she lies to you
That's when you learn the truth
If you're goin' through hell keep on going
Don't slow down if you're scared don't show it
You might get out before the devil even knows you're there”
At that moment that song described my life. I was separated from my husband, unemployed, and between homes. When I heard another song on the same album, “These are My People,”
I stopped at the next service area and bought the CD. I’ve become a big Rodney Atkins fan. Tracy Lawrence, “Find Out Who Your Friends Are,” had a profound affect on me. I bought the CD and played it for my grandkids. We all loved it and sang along. I played it so much that whenever I picked them up, my four year old grandson requested Grand mommy Caron, play my song. Here it is:
Run your car off the side of the road
I stopped at the next service area and bought the CD. I’ve become a big Rodney Atkins fan. Tracy Lawrence, “Find Out Who Your Friends Are,” had a profound affect on me. I bought the CD and played it for my grandkids. We all loved it and sang along. I played it so much that whenever I picked them up, my four year old grandson requested Grand mommy Caron, play my song. Here it is:
Run your car off the side of the road
Get stuck in a ditch way out in the middle of nowhere
Get yourself in a bind lose the shirt off your back
Need a floor need a couch need a bus fare
This is where the rubber meets the road
This is where the cream is gonna rise
This is what you really didn't know
This is where the truth don't lie
You find out who you're friends are
Somebody's gonna drop everything
Run out and crank up their car
Hit the gas get there fast
Never stop to think 'what's in it for me' or 'it's way too far'
They just show on up with their big old heart
You find out who you're friends are
Everybody wants to slap your back
Wants to shake your hand
When you're up on top of that mountain
But let one of those rocks give way then you slide back down look up
And see who's around then
This ain't where the road comes to an end
This ain't where the bandwagon stops
This is just one of those times when
A lot of folks jump off
When the water's high
When the weather's not so fair
When the well runs dry
Who's gonna be there
Now a days my radio is tuned to 92.5 fm Connecticut Country. I swoon over Kenny Chesney, Garth Brooks and Toby Keith. I like the fun songs like “Me and My Gang,” by Rascal Flatts, down home knee slappin songs like “Way Down Yonder on the Chatahoochee,” by Alan Jackson, the beautiful and sad “Live Like I was Dying, by Tim McGraw, or the sweet gospel; "I Saw God Today," by George Straight...
What I’ve found in Country music are meaningful heartfelt lyrics, which tell a story, sad, funny, moral stories, written to great melodies. Songs I can play with my grandkids in the car. Words we can sing out loud and not be embarrassed. Women are referred as Heroes by their Mr. Mom husbands; Country men describe their women as the love of their life, life is meaningless without them. I’d have to go all the way back to 1960s to find a rhythm and blues song where women are placed on a pedestal. The men in country songs sung by both men and women; are loving, supportive, patriotic, hardworking regular Joes, just making a living and trying to do right. Even the raunchy Big and Rich “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy,” is more tongue n cheek than dirty.
As a daughter of Motown and child of the sixties I wonder how we got from Brenda and the Tabulations’ “Stay Together Young Lovers,” a beautiful tribute to young love, to the vile, “Stay Together,” by Ludicris. From My Girl to My Ho, R-E-S-P-E-C-T to Super Freak, marriage to misogyny, soul music no longer comes from the soul, it’s manufactured to make a quick buck.
I love to sing even if I can’t carry a tune and I want to be able to share my love of music with my family. Country allows me to this. Gansta Rap and today's rhythm and blues does not. For me the clean easy to remember lyrics and melodies of country is and easy choice.
As a daughter of Motown and child of the sixties I wonder how we got from Brenda and the Tabulations’ “Stay Together Young Lovers,” a beautiful tribute to young love, to the vile, “Stay Together,” by Ludicris. From My Girl to My Ho, R-E-S-P-E-C-T to Super Freak, marriage to misogyny, soul music no longer comes from the soul, it’s manufactured to make a quick buck.
I love to sing even if I can’t carry a tune and I want to be able to share my love of music with my family. Country allows me to this. Gansta Rap and today's rhythm and blues does not. For me the clean easy to remember lyrics and melodies of country is and easy choice.
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