Tagged: soul

Soul Flashback – May 1967

46 years ago this month, Miami-made soul music was hitting its stride. It was the year before the scene would break nationally with a couple of big hits in 1968 from local teen sensations Betty Wright and Della Humphrey.  Here are 5 very solid tracks all recorded in Miami that debuted in May 1967, a sample of what was just around the corner for Miami Soul.

Sweet Sweet Lovin’ – Paul Kelly

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Released on the Philips label, this song became a local hit by July 1967. Paul Kelly was a Miami-born vocalist who enjoyed an extensive career well through the 1980s. His biggest hit was Stealing in the Name of the Lord, which reportedly created a stir among some black communities because it exposed the hypocrisies of some church leaders. But controversy sells; the song reached #14 on Billboard’s R&B chart in July 1970. Three years earlier, Kelly released the song featured here, Sweet Sweet Lovin’. There was no controversy about this very upbeat song, which was produced by Buddy Killen, a music producer from Alabama who made his bones in country music but also had slightly comparable success with R&B hits.

Girl I Got News For You – Benny Latimore

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Benny Latimore is a keyboardist from Charleston, TN who moved to Miami and became an integral part of Henry Stone’s TK Records as a session musician and singer-songwriter. He had 2 national hit records of his own in the mid 1970s with Let’s Straighten It Out (#1 in R&B, #31 in Top 40) and Something ‘Bout Cha (#7 in R&B). Girl I Got News For You, issued on one of Stone’s first R&B record labels (Dade), was released in May 1967. One month later, this catchy, pre-disco track was one of the top songs jamming on local soul stations, and probably would have been a bigger hit if it had been (re)released during TK’s impressive disco run a few years later.

I Feel My Love – Little Beaverbeaver via HS

Willie “Little Beaver” Hale moved to Miami as a teenager from Forrest City, AR. He joined the Miami nightclub band, Frank Williams & the Rocketeers as lead guitarist in 1964 and later recorded a few tracks as a solo artist including this one, which was released on Octavia Records. Beaver later joined up with Henry Stone’s TK Records and had five hit songs including the 1974 Party Down which reached #2 on Billboard’s R&B chart. He is considered the grand master of Miami Soul guitarists and is most revered for, among many of his musical accomplishments, playing all three guitar tracks on Betty Wright’s exceptional gold record Clean Up Woman (1971).

I Love You Baby – The Moovers

Moovers#

The Moovers recorded their first 2 songs, including this one, with Deep City Records, Miami’s first black-owned independent label which was run by partners Willie Clarke and Johnny Pearsall.  The Moovers later changed their name to The Prolifics and released the song If Only I Could Fly in December 1968.  They later recorded under the band name Living Proof in the 1970s. The song featured here was written and arranged by Willie Clarke, Johnny Pearsall, and Arnold Albury. The song has a Delfonics’ flavor to it (and incidentally would have been suitable for the soundtrack of Tarantino’s 1997 film, Jackie Brown). Favorite lyric? “With you, I’m a king, without you, I’m not a dog-gone thing.”

True Love Don’t Grow on Trees – Helene Smith

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Widely considered among people in the know as Miami’s first queen of soul, Helene Smith recorded more than 20 songs between 1966 and 1969, mostly with the aforementioned Deep City, and then a couple with Phil-LA-of Soul out of Philadelphia, after Deep City’s partners split in 1968. Smith released True Love Don’t Grow on Trees in May 1967, a modest hit. But her big break would come three months later with A Woman Will Do Wrong, which reached #20 on Billboard’s R&B and #128 on the crossover pop singles charts. Today, she is a public school teacher in Miami-Dade County.

Copyright © 2013 Long Play Miami

NOTE: “Soul Flashback” will be an ongoing feature on this site. Check back periodically for updates or sign up for email alerts (see Sidebar). Also follow Long Play Miami on Twitter & Facebook.

The Birth of Deep City – The Movie

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For the last decade the Chicago-based company, The Numero Group, has been mining the long-ago discarded music recordings of now defunct independent record labels around the United States. Devoted to “dragging brilliant recordings, films, and photography out of unwarranted obscurity,” Numero has found gems in closets, warehouses, crates and bins in Atlanta, Chicago, Detroit and reissued these funk and soul treasures on their own label, Eccentric Soul.

A few years ago, Numero reached out to the only living partner of Miami’s own Deep City Records, Willie Clarke.

Deep City was started by Clarke and Johnny Pearsall around 1963 in Miami’s Overtown section. Clarke and Pearsall met whilezzeccentricsoulthedee_101b attending college in Tallahassee at Florida A&M. Clarke was a drummer in A&M’s Marching 100 Band. He and another local, Arnold “Hoss” Albury, a trumpet player in the same band, brought that big brass sound to the Deep City vision in Miami years later; big horns loom large over many of the tracks they recorded under their label.

Numero’s discussions with Clarke lead to Eccentric Soul, the Deep City Label, the resuscitation of seventeen Deep City originals released on a double album in three formats: vinyl, CD, and MP3. The songs, mostly written and arranged by Clarke and Clarence Reid, featured the vocals of starlets Betty Wright and Helene Smith, or the big soul sound of The Moovers, or Miami #1 soul band at the time, Frank Williams & the Rocketeers.

The Numero Deep City compilation record was released January 31, 2006. NPR chose it for it’s Record of the Year: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=6567709

Not long after, as the story goes, Dennis Scholl received a copy of the album from his business partner. After one listen, Scholl was “blown away.”

This is unbelievable, high quality, emotionally resonant music. And I was like: who are these people and how come no one knows about them?

And that was the beginning of the odyssey.

The odyssey he refers to is a film in production now for almost three years: Deep City: The Birth of the Miami Sound, inspired by the Numero compilation record. Scholl is co-producing the film along with local documentary filmmakers Marlon Johnson and Chad Tingle. It’s their first long feature together. They have previously co-produced short films, two of which have won Emmys. But the Deep City documentary is a big story, says Scholl, speaking from his downtown office at the John S. & James L. Knight Foundation where he serves as Vice President of the Arts. I met with him and Marlon Johnson there last week for a discussion about the upcoming film.

These are big undertakings. They are hard. They are expensive. It is easy to make a film and hard to make a good film.

Deep City-4aThey knew this was not a film that would receive outside funding initially but they agreed to do it anyway. Tingle and Johnson invested the sweat equity while Scholl covered their hard expenses. They shot with a high-definition camera and did many hours of interviews. In the end, they knew they had johnnys#something. They acquired footage from the Wolfson Moving Image Archives featuring life in Miami’s Overtown, the predominately black community, the heart and soul of Deep City’s sound. Tingle and Johnson began stitching the film together and prepared an eight-minute teaser to drum up interest in the film.

Scholl said at the beginning they didn’t know what to do with it.

We didn’t want to do it as a commercial enterprise where we were trying to put the film in a theater and make money from it. So we went to our friends at WLRN (Miami’s NPR & PBS member station)… We showed them the trailer… and we played them the music.

And they said, we’re doing this.

WLRN acquired the film but gave Scholl, Johnson and Tingle free reins to make it as they intended and put it on the film festival circuit.  Referring to them as “unbelievably good partners,” Scholl says WLRN is the only institution telling Miami stories these days.

People forget that Miami’s history is very, very compressed. The fact that things happened here so quickly is great but it’s a very compressed time frame compared to the rest of the world and even the rest of America.

So we’re now starting to go back as a community and look at our heritage and look at what people accomplished screens#here…That’s what these stories are about. They are stories made my Miamians, about Miamians, for Miamians. And in doing that, we found this story. And these are really special people.

The Deep City film highlights the stories of Willie Clarke, Helene Smith, the late Johnny Pearsall, and singer-songwriter Clarence Reid.

These are people who deserve recognition, and should be paid homage to.

The partnership with WLRN allows them to consider applying to the Sundance Festival, Tribeca Film Festival,Toronto Film Festival and SXSW.

[WLRN] really understands the importance of telling this story nationally. They really want to hold off [on the television broadcast] until we have this festival run.

Fall of 2013 is the deadline to submit the film to the aforementioned festivals and they appear to be on schedule. After that run, PBS will release the film on public television.

But that’s tomorrow. For now, what they have in the works is a love letter to Deep City Records.

We just want to make sure that people know that music comes from artists and the people that made this music are really, really special.

Film screen shots courtesy of Marlon Johnson, Co-Producer.

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March 2014 Update:

Deep City: The Birth of the Miami Sound is complete and has been accepted at SXSW, Cleveland International Film Festival and will have its Florida debut on March 14, 2014 at the Miami International Film Festival.

Music docs are all the rage again since 20 Feet From Stardom won Best Documentary Feature at the Oscars last week and Sugar Man won it the year before.

Here’s wishing similarly good vibes to Deep City.

Link to the film’s trailer is here: https://longplaymiami.wordpress.com/2014/03/12/deep-city-has-arrived/

Copyright © 2014 Long Play Miami

Miami Twice

deepcity#Not one but two documentary films are currently in production about Miami, based on the protagonists of the soul music scene of the 60s and 70s. One film, Deep City – The Birth of the Miami Sound, is focused on the first black record company in Florida – Deep City Records – and covers the period from 1964 – 1968 when the Miami-based company produced soul recordings that still resonate today.

The second film, Rock Your Baby – Henry Stone & TKmiamisound#the Miami Sound, is a broader narrative on the life of Henry Stone, featured here last July, and his record distribution empire TK Records, which spearheaded the soul-turned-disco era of the 70s with the global success of KC & the Sunshine Band and other musical acts culminating in nearly 30 platinum and gold records.

Long Play Miami spoke to the people behind the two documentaries in an effort to raise awareness of the films but also to understand the inner workings of each.  It should be noted that while some of the same personalities are either featured or mentioned in both films, there is minimal collaboration between the films, which is a little odd because the Deep City and TK narratives are really inter-connected, kind of like DNA molecules.  Deep City Records shut down in 1968 and three of its key members joined Henry Stone’s company. The convergence of talent that included singers, musicians, and songwriters proved to be a blessing for the Deep City-TK collective almost immediately, and lasted well into the late 70s.

Deep City‘s film producers have reached out to Henry Stone but haven’t received a commitment.  They say they would like to give Stone the opportunity to tell his side of the story about the break up [of Deep City]” but they will do their film with or without Stone’s input. And its fine, says co-producer Dennis Scholl: “When Henry brought Willie Clarke, Clarence Reid, and Betty Wright with him from Deep City to TK in 1968, that was the end of Deep City and the end of our film.”  On the other hand, Joe Stone says his father prefers to do his own thing “so as not to water down the Henry Stone brand” while they’re making their film, Rock Your Baby.

So two films, not one.  And its all good.

“I think it’s great that the music in Miami that was so critical to the rest of the world is finally getting some recognition,” said Joe Stone.

Copyright © 2013 Long Play Miami

The Clarence Reid Session

If one could get paid for giving interviews, Clarence Reid might just be a rich man. But you have to pin him down first, and that’s not easy.

For three months I tried to schedule this interview but he’d either cancel, fail to show up, or send an excuse through his manager, Tom. So when we finally sat down at the Miami Jai Alai one morning last week, I was keen on not letting him drift away. (At least physically.)

Who is Clarence Reid?

He is credited with co-writing and/or arranging more than 220 songs since 1963 for mostly Miami independent record labels. He also released over 30 albums, singles, or EPs of his own. This makes him arguably the most prominent and prolific contributor to Miami’s 60s and 70s soul music scene.

Reid’s back story begins in Cochran, a rural town spread across 4.2 square miles in the belly of the State of Georgia.

When I was about 6 years old, all the blacks up there, they had this thing that if you’re black you’re supposed to listen to the blues like B.B. King and all of that stuff.

I didn’t like blues. Everything is wrong.

The corn don’t roll, the hen don’t lay… I didn’t like it.

I liked the hillbilly music. I would get [that music] and change them around in my own stuff.

Shittin’ in the morning sun / I’ll be shittin’ till the evening come / watching my turds fall in / then I take them back out again. [parody of Otis Redding classic]

…the blacks [would say]…, you’re disgusting’…, but the white people loved it.

He performed around Cochran and he says the white folks ate it up. He’d get paid for it too, sometimes coming home with as much as 90 or 100 dollars or about 10xs what some of the workers were making in the rural fields.

On the road again / Just can’t wait to get on the road again / the Hershey highway means ass, where all the turds have ever been / I can’t wait to get on the road again. [parody of Willie Nelson classic]

When his grandmother found out how he made the money, she was incensed:

You’re a disgrace to the black race and you ain’t no better than a blow fly.

And I said, ‘what the heck is a blow fly?’

A blow fly is a black and red and green insect, they lay eggs on dead things, they turn into maggots, she’d say.

And so BlowFly was born. (More on that later.)

The interview continues.

When Reid first moved to Miami, he hooked up with a number of local music people: Willie Clarke of Deep City Records, Henry Stone of Tone Distributors (and later TK Productions).  In 1963 he recorded Like White on Rice on Stone’s DADE Label, a ballad that was been described as ‘a strong vocal performance backed with a pumping piano and some fine horns’ by at least one soul music enthusiast I found through my research.

In 1969, Reid had his biggest hit, Nobody But You Babe [ALSTON]. The song peaked nationally at #7 on the R&B charts. But after that, commercial success as a frontman (at least as “Clarence Reid”) was hard to come by. Yet he continued to thrive in the songwriting field.

He wrote early hits for Betty Wright, KC and the Sunshine Band, and Gwen McCrae, a trio of artists that dominated the Miami R&B/soul/early disco scene from 1968-1974.

He tells me about the song he wrote for Gwen McCrae, Rockin’ Chair, which reached #9 on the U.S. pop charts and #1 on the soul charts in 1975.

Back in the day, … the wife would tell her daddy, hey daddy, you want me to rock you in my rockin’ chair?

Yeah.. That [song] means fucking.

This thought process is a good segue into what inspired Reid to don a mask and a cape and create  an alter ego known as BlowFly. Reid’s Blowfly was a foul-mouth performer of parodied songs like the Otis Redding or Willie Nelson classics mentioned above. He is considered the original dirty rapper predating the likes of Miami’s own 2 Live Crew by more than a decade.

As BlowFly, he released Rap Dirty in 1971, considered the first ever dirty rap recording, and continued with a string of albums throughout the 70s and 80s. They were called ‘party records’ back then because they were only played at house parties. The records were sold clandestinely behind the counter at select record shops because of the profanity not only in the lyrics and song titles but also the cover art which often featured topless women. (BlowFly was featured in the 2010 documentary, The Weird World of Blowfly.)

Yet despite all the profane, misogynist-like rap songs he recorded as BlowFly, Clarence Reid had a deep respect for women. He wanted them to be strong. He appreciated them, protected them, pedestal-ed them. He manifested these emotions in a kinder gentler way through his other compositions.

About the Miami Soul classic Girls Can’t Do What the Guys Can Do (and Still be a Lady) [Betty Wright, ALSTON, 1969]

.. I couldn’t understand. If you had 5 women at 1 time, you was a lover or a Casanova. But if your sister dated two guys, she was a whore. I just couldn’t understand it. So I came up with that record,. …That was big on the charts, top 10.

Or about Don’t Make the Good Girls Go Bad [Della Humphrey, ARCTIC, 1968]

People used to say about this girl or that girl… ‘she’s a whore’ and everything…, I would get mad, ‘you all made her that way’. I remember this boy would take his sister with him on dates. Then he’d say I’ll be right back and had guys give him money to leave his sister there so they can bang her. This was in Georgia back then…All the girls, they weren’t bad, [the guys] would make them go bad. .. that’s when I came up with that song.

I ask him if he’s still in touch with any of the singers he composed for. No, he says, with a little bit of bitterness.

Someone tells them, you’re big enough to go on your own now. What they don’t understand is that I created stuff from scratch. I don’t care how good the other manager was, if you can’t create shit, you’re gone. That’s the way it was.

But Reid doesn’t really have any regrets. In fact, he doesn’t even give me a chance to ask him about regrets. He’s already onto the next topic, a song he wrote that was sung by Vanessa Kendrick.

How can I do what’s right / When what I need is wrong / how can I follow the rules of love / when love won’t let me be strong.

Then he parodies Christmas carols.

Silent night / holy night / your p#ssy’s so loose / were it once so tight.

Then he asks me my astrological sign and then dazzles with a dirty song about being a Libra. He turns around and serenades a woman having a Coke next to us. This is Clarence Reid a/k/a BlowFly and its the show of the day at the Miami Jai Alai.

The previous week at the Ricochet Lounge in Midtown Miami he said he performed in front of a packed house as BlowFly. (I saw him play at The Stage earlier this year. He can still work a crowd.)

At the end of this month he’s headed to Vancouver, Los Angeles, and Portland. He says the crowds are diverse. Young, old, black, white, ‘even the Spanish’ line up to see him perform these days. And one thing is certain…

When they come to my show, they leave happy.

Copyright © 2012 Long Play Miami

The Resilient Soul of Mr. Clarke

Willie J. Clarke is a good man.  But he’s been done wrong a few times.

The interview in his Hialeah apartment begins with my showing him a compilation double album I bought a few months ago – Miami Sound: Rare Funk & Soul from 1967-1974. The songwriter and music producer says it reminds him of the worst thing that happened to him in the music business, that he was just so in love with the writing and creating, he didn’t manage his business affairs right.  Then he adds that he wonders why he doesn’t get paid “real money” as a result of having so much “material” out there.  He tells me he doesn’t want to talk about the re-issue label from Chicago that, with his assistance and support, produced compilation records like the one I just showed him featuring a lot of the music he wrote back in the day. They made him promises, he says. Financial promises. He says he’s “still keeping what you might call faith” but it makes him nauseous how they failed him.

Clarke goes on.  He says the worst offenders are musicians who use his music as their own.  (Artists steal music from each other time and again, especially hip hop artists who sample music. And the more original and unique songs, especially from an era when licensing fees and royalties weren’t considered a priority, are the most vulnerable.)

I think he’s being particularly hard on himself. After all, some things you can’t control.

Clarke reaches for some papers on his desk and hands them to me. It’s his BMI royalty statement. BMI is a global company that collects licensing fees and distributes them as royalties to songwriters and musicians.

10 cents here, 5 cents there, he says, just enough to pay the light bill.*

The man who’s written soul lyrics about women, advising them not to be done in by the men in their lives, has been done in.

But then the good man changes his tune and fires into nostalgia.

We had 6 or 8 rhythm sections. There were certain sounds. If we wanted to do a ballad, we’d get Little Beaver, my blues guy was best for that. If we wanted to cut something really fast and danceable, I’d get KC [of Sunshine Band notoriety]. .. He was funky.  There was keyboard player Timmy Thomas, …Robert ‘Shotgun’ Johnson, … a Cuban guy named Julio… We had jazz people, blues people, even a guy from Belle Glades named Melvin Carter who sang if you see a man walking the streets tonight, don’t be afraid. Don’t worry, its only me, I got pains in my heart. And Snoopy Dean [guitar], he was good. He’d start chewing that bubblegum and lean back.

Throughout all this, Clarke mimicks a bass player, a piano player, even Snoopy Dean leaning way back jamming his guitar. He makes this sound or that sound. The soul man is on a roll.

Clarke was born in the small rural community of Fort Gaines, Georgia but moved to Miami when he was four. He attended college at Florida A&M and played tenor drum in the marching band. There, he began composing music. He says voices would come to him and recite poetry in his head. He then tells me he can write a song in 10, 15 minutes. I think about testing him on the spot but I can’t fathom a topic that would meet his criteria.  Clarke wrote songs with meaning, with a message, a strong message. Many of them were about empowering women. He didn’t write about racial discrimination or racial injustices. There were broader themes he wanted to address in the music. These songs were about love, loss, and everything in between.

His peers were strong songwriters too. He talks about Willie “Little Beaver” Hale. Mama forgot to tell me that the world was about to change. Can you tell me who’s to blame. Nothing can remain the same, people even change their name… And my papa was even nowhere around, my papa was somewhere getting down. He tells me this is the story of the ghetto child, the hard life that you gotta face.

After college he spent a lot of time at Johnnys Record Shop in Liberty City which belonged to his business partner Johnny Pearsall. (The two of them later would start Deep City Records, which ran from 1964-68 and produced some of the best soul music around.)

In the back room we had a little rehearsal room. Just enough to jam a piano in there. We’d rehearse every day before we went to the studio… The girls would come by. We’d have late night parties there.

But Clarke was serious about the music. So serious he set goals for himself. Three goals, in fact.  (1) To get radio play; (2) to have a gold record (back then, 1 million records sold), and (3) to have a platinum record (2 million sold).

I ask him what song broke the cherry as far as radio play. It was The Pot Can’t Talk About the Kettle by Helene Smith, considered Miami’s First Lady of Soul. Released on one of Clarke’s labels, Blue Star,  in 1963, it has been called the “ultimate Miami collectible” record. The first pressing of the 45 RPMs totaled only 300 records.

Thank God for DJs who were, what you might call, compassionate. That was one of the wildest recordings… It’s about the rawest sound you ever want to hear on a record.

He tells me if he could record that song today it would sound much better but he likes the raw sound.

The ironic thing about having a good song. ..Sometimes you cannot sacrifice feel for perfection. Perfection is boring. Every now and then you have a little tweety bird over here, a little bow wow in this corner. People will say, hey what’s coming out next? They start grooving to it.

When local music impresario Henry Stone came looking for Clarke (circa 1968) to entice him to come work for him and what would become TK Records in Miami, Clarke says he and Johnny Pearsall couldn’t agree on the move. (Reportedly, Pearsall wanted to go in a different direction with Helene Smith, i.e., sign with a national label. But on this day, Clarke recounts a different motive for Pearsall’s resistance.)

Johnny didn’t want to go [with Henry Stone]. We don’t need him, he’d say. We can do this ourselves.   To be realistic, Johnny didn’t like mingling too much with white people ’cause as a little boy he grew up seeing the brothers being tarred and feathered. He was exposed to some prejudices and bigotry up there [in Tallahassee]… I wasn’t exposed to that kind of stuff in Miami.  Johnny tried real hard to overcome these things but there are some things in life you can’t overcome.  

Clarke and Pearsall eventually split, and so went Deep City Records. Clarke took his talents to Hialeah [site of Henry Stone’s recording and distribution business]. And I mean all of his talents.  Guitarist Little Beaver, diva Betty Wright, James Knight & the Butlers. Songwriters, vocalists, musicians. And that FAMU sound.

Joining with Henry Stone was a genius move.  Success came quick with the 1968 Betty Wright single Girls Can’t Do What the Guys Do. And times were good.

I used to get up early in the morning especially during the summer when school closed [his other job was as a middle school art teacher].  When I’d get to the studio, they’d be waiting outside, the drummer and the guitar player.  And they’d say, come on, lets cut somethin’ [music]… But first lets start with this.

Oh, you brought some Red Rooster [wine]?

…and we’d drink a couple of bottles of Red Rooster and get up there and jam all morning, all day long.

About the first gold record which he achieved in 1971, he said,

One day I came to TK Records from teaching in South Miami. Henry Stone was happy sitting behind the desk. He said, Willie, have some rum and coke.

I said, whats all the party about, Henry?

He said, remember those guys from Atlantic Records that were here? Well, they told me to tell you you got a big smash hit with Clean Up Woman.

Clarke called the principal at the middle school and submitted his resignation.

The platinum record came a few years later.

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Since I first started writing about this topic I have heard varying opinions about what exactly is the Miami Sound. Henry Stone has said that it was during the disco years of the 70s when they had hit after hit at TK Records. They even marketed the moniker under the TK label circa 1978. But Clarke disagrees with that notion. He says it started with the Deep City music.

[Local musicians] Them Two, The Moovers, Helene Smith, and Little Beaver, that’s what I would say was the Miami Sound. Why? Because that was the music that was the attention-getter here in Miami. When it hit the radio, it made a big bang. Henry Stone wanted to know who we were.

I ask him what made this Miami Sound unique.

Two words, he says, “color blind.”

It was the most integrated society. People from everywhere. It was so mixed. When you look around there’d be different colors playing the same music.

Man, we had stiff competition. Motown, Philly, LA, Birmingham, all over. But because of the uniqueness of our sound, we were able to kind of like… ease right on through. We were different.

I can’t tell the difference between an LA sound and a NY sound. But you know a Miami Sound (snap his fingers) right off the bat.

Clarke receives a check every once in a while.  A few cents here and there.  Sometimes more. For example, Beyonce sampled Girls Can’t Do. She paid royalties. He says it was a big hit.**

Then he says,

Thank God for samples. Without samples, my life wouldn’t be all right, right now.

Copyright © 2012 Long Play Miami

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Update: December 6, 2012

* After reading this blog post recently, Willie Clarke called me and said he wanted me to acknowledge that “BMI is very important to him. They take really good care of Willie Clarke.”  I get where he’s coming from. [see next point] 

** Occasionally, royalty checks sum up to a lot more than just a few cents. 

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On July 18, 2012, this post was recognized:

Deep City Soul

In the early 1960s, when Miami Beach was experiencing its first boom, hotels played host to top notch performers and artists from around the country. But black musicians like Louis Armstrong, Josephine Baker, and Billie Holiday who would perform at, say, the Fountainbleu for white audiences, weren’t permitted to stay there due to segregation laws. Once their sets were over they had to head to hotels in Miami’s black neighborhoods. On many late nights these artists and their band members would go out and mix in with the local musicians at the Overtown bars like the Knight Beat Club in the Sir John Hotel or The Fiesta lounge inside the Mary Elizabeth Hotel.  It made for a vibrant jazz and soul scene.

Jeff Lemlich, a music historian (and über record collector) describes that time as a significant moment in Miami’s soul music history. He says that while segration laws existed at the official establishments, the local, somewhat under the radar, Miami scene didn’t have those racial barriers in the clubs. It was “a color blind sort of thing” he says, taking place in the midst of the civil rights movement and the turmoil surrounding that time.

You had [white] guys that really rocked out in their garage bands playing guitar, bass and drums.  And they were mixing with black Gospel singers…, and with horn sections that were influenced by college marching bands. There was also a Bahamian influence, as well, that was prevalent down here.

Lemlich, author of the book Savage Lost: Florida Garage Bands – The ’60s and Beyond, said that all these diverse influences came together and it worked on both a musical and social level. It really made the Miami sound unique in comparison to Motown, for example.

I asked him if there was a song that personified the Miami soul scene of the 1960s. 

I got one, he said.

Girls Can’t Do What the Guys Do [And Still Be a Lady] by Betty Wright.

Written by Willie Clarke and Clarence Reid, formerly of Deep City Records, the song is a concise yet assertive plea to women – who are done wrong by their guys – to maintain their dignity and self respect.

Betty Wright was first discovered when she was about 13 years old. As the story goes, she walked into a Miami record shop owned by Johnny Pearsall who, with Willie Clarke, co-founded Deep City Records circa 1965. The young teenager belted out a rendition of “Summertime” that was a top 10 hit by Billy Stewart.  Just like that, a star was born.

Clarke and Pearsall got her in the recording studio immediately. They cut two records that played well locally but never broke nationally. In 1968, Clarke and Pearsall split amid philosphical differences.  Pearsall took Helene Smith, Deep City’s queen of soul, and signed on with a national label out of Philadelphia.  Clarke and writing partner Reid, with Betty Wright on board, joined up with record producer Henry Stone.  Stone had the connections to get records played locally on the radio but he also had a recording studio, his own labels, and most importantly he had relationships with nationally recognized labels like Atlantic.

Girls Can’t Do What the Guys Do was the first song recorded by the former Deep City team under Stone. It was released in 1968 as a single (45) on Stone’s Alston label and on her debut album My First Time Around.

“Mucho successful,” says Lemlich. It got up to #2 on the WQAM Top 40 Chart. And it wasn’t just a local hit. The song broke nationally and became the #1 R&B song in the country.

It was a hit all the way, not slick though, no excesses. Black and white musicians together.. you know what I call that?  Soul without borders.

Everything just right.

Copyright © 2012 Long Play Miami

Miami Sound Reissued

Before a young and visionary Emilio Estefan usurped “Miami Sound” for his Latin crossover band of the late 1970s, the term had existed for about a decade as a nationally recognized musical style and genre.

In the mid 1960s, while the country spiraled towards a long and painful war in Vietnam, a group of local talented musicians, writers, producers and arrangers came together under the genius of TK Records and its founder, Henry Stone, an independent record distributor who had settled in Miami after making records for years in California.  Stone set up shop in a warehouse in Hialeah just a few blocks east of LeJuene Road.  He recruited local producers Willie Clarke and Clarence Reid (“BlowFly”) who ran their own small record label – Deep City Records – and had laid solid groundwork for what was to come.

Clarke, a former member of the Florida A&M (“FAMU”) 100 Band, recalled during a recent panel discussion one of the key and fundamental elements of this unique sound:

Every time we came home [from college] for spring break or Christmas holidays, we’d get together and walk the streets of Overtown from club to club and the horn players would go and sit in with groups like Dizzy Jones and Frank Williams & the Rocketeers… We developed a style of playing that was almost equal to: you gotta march when you hear the song. We developed this big brass sound with horns… which was traditional in the FAMU sound.

The TK Group combined the songwriting talents of Clarke and Reid, and Stone’s connections to national record labels and distribution skills, and under TK, they recorded funk and R&B influenced by Miami’s cultural dynamic at the time.  According to Clarke:

We had hillbillies, Gospel singers, Bahamian guitar players,… The Miami Sound came from a real integration of different styles of music and we blended it together.

Big horns, deep bass grooves, tight guitar riffs, sometimes a piano, sometimes an organ, always soul.

Early contributors to the Miami Sound included James Knight and the Butlers, the aforementioned Frank Williams, Willie “Little Beaver” Hale, Joey Gilmore, and Timmy Thomas.  And the women – strong, no-nonsense, in-your-face. There was Helene Smith, considered Miami’s first lady of soul, Betty Wright, Gwen McCrae.  Smith and Wright were holdovers from the Deep City days. McCrae would become a star in her own right with the top ten hit Rockin’ Chair in 1974.

For a while Miami Sound was comparable with some of the biggest R&B music labels of that time: Motown (Detroit), Stax Records (Memphis), “Sweet” Philly (Philadelphia).

So what happened?

Well, TK’s music would evolve and cross over into dance and specifically disco in the mid 1970s. Harry Casey (aka KC) and Richard Finch were two aspiring musicians who started working at the TK studio packing records. Soon they were writing music for Gwen’s husband, George McCrae (Rock Your Baby, a #1 hit in 1974) and others before they formed their own group and exploded onto the disco scene as KC & The Sunshine Band scoring TK Records a string of #1 hits that became iconic with the era. A great run indeed but disco quickly floundered in the early 1980s, and TK, facing financial difficulties from a severe drop in record sales, filed for bankruptcy.

Soul Jazz Records, a reissue label in London, has reprinted copies of a compilation record,  Miami Sound: Rare Funk & Soul from 1967-1974 [http://www.souljazzrecords.co.uk/index.php] featuring a wonderful sampling of the early pre-disco funk, soul and R&B that made music history in Miami.

Here’s a taste:

The Beautiful Alternative Universe of Mingering Mike

As a kid we all dream of being superstars when we grow up, whether it’s a superhero, a sports star, a princess, or maybe a celebrity. Like many boys eager to score girls and status, I fantasized about being a rock star. In the sixth grade, I would doodle the name of our make-believe band in my Duo-Tang folder.  By eighth grade, I was playing air guitar solos in the bedroom which doubled as Wembley Stadium as girls from Catholic schools tossed their panties at my feet.  That was the extent of the pipe dream; just another typical teenage fantasy.

Back in our nation’s capital between 1967 and 1972, one teenager took the whole musician fantasy thing to new heights. He adopted the name Mingering Mike and he imagined himself a soul superstar. In his world he was the artist, the lyricist, the producer, the album cover designer, all at once. He came up with song titles and album titles and record company labels and then set out to make it as ‘real’ as possible using cardboard, scissors, markers and tape. He shaped the cardboard into albums and records. He drew the grooves on each of the records and created the labels for Sides A and B.  He’d draw up funky cover art and on the back of each album cover, the liner notes. Every detail imaginable, all from his bedroom in Washington DC.  Over the course of five years, he produced more than 50 albums.   

I tracked down the mystery man behind the artwork and spoke to him by telephone this week. He still lives in Washington D.C. and describes his age as “a young 60ish.” And he still maintains his secret identity as Mingering Mike. Of course there is a real person behind the secret identity, sort of any everyday Joe (but not really).

He told me all of his artwork (he calls them records) had been in storage for about 11 years but he fell back on the payments and when he returned one day to make a payment after some time had passed, the new owners had sold off all of his possessions. Then around 2005, a record collector discovered them in a flea market in Washington D.C.

He called me and said, I found your stuff. And I said, what stuff.. And in my ears, it sounded like someone with a smashed nose, if you know what I mean, and he expected me to ask – what do you want for it?

He met with the record collector “in a public place” and he was thrilled to be reunited with his “babies.” The collector, Dori Hadar, told him he had posted pictures on the web and there was a lot of interest in “Mingering Mike.” Subsequently Mr. Hadar, with Mike’s blessing, published a book called The Imaginary World of Mingering Mike and within months Mike was invited to travel to art exhibits in Amsterdam, London, North Carolina, Texas. But always in disguise. Fake mustache, fake beard, wig, the works. He doesn’t like having to tell people about his other identity. He says people have imaginary minds and they project certain things onto a superstar.

No one knows that Clark Kent is Superman…[The alter-ego] still gives me anonymity outside the Mingering Mike life. I could walk down the street and no one knows who I am. That’s good. That gives me less pressure.

He says someday if he gets to where he feels at ease he will reveal himself.  It’s so secretive even his closest friends don’t know this other side to him, he says.

I can see it being possible. When it does happen, my co-workers will say, ‘son of a gun.’

In the meantime he’s at work on a new ‘album’. It’s called “The Land of Opportunity”.  And he recently produced one that is part of an exhibit in California titled “The Return of the Magnificent Mingering.” And the cover?

It’s me, riding on a horse,… and I’m a cowboy.

Now that fantasy can be found at the Miami Art Museum’s The Record: Contemporary Art & Vinyl exhibit until June 10th. The exhibit, which was organized by the Nasher Museum of Art at Duke University, is an homage to the vinyl record. Its worthy of a visit for any music enthusiast.  Sculptures, deconstructions, re-imaginings, and other forms of appreciation all celebrating the round plastic LP in a digital age of iTunes and MP3s.

But its Mingering Mike’s arsenal of records behind glass casings that is most impressive and pleasingly accessible. BOOGIE DOWN AT THE WHITE HOUSE, BROTHER OF THE DRAGON, GHETTO PRINCE, and the live album, THE MINGERING MIKE SHOW, LIVE FROM THE HOWARD THEATER, are just some of the many hit albums you’ll see on display by Mingering Mike, the most prolific musician you’ve never heard of.

More here at http://www.miamiartmuseum.org/exhibition_the-record.asp

Copyright © 2012 Long Play Miami