Pop Tableau

On A High Note

Falsetto. It can either be really, really good. Or not. Here are a few who did it right the first time.

9. Shawn Stockman

One fourth of the 90s hit machine Boyz II Men, Shawn Stockman was THE falsetto of the New Jack Swing era. A throwback to the groups of old, Boyz II Men offered the full vocal package. From tenor to bass to baritone and back again, the children of the 90s got the chance to experience their own little version of The Temptations…albeit with less appealing costumes (those blazers and shorts just weren’t cuttin it with me). Stockman has a voice made to soothe and groove. Lovely and unaffected, and undisturbed by the over done runs that ran amuck in the 90s, Stockman gently lulled you to sleep…or other places.

8. Michael Jackson

“Ohhhhhhhh whhhhhhhhy, oh whhhhhhhhy. Oh whhhhhhhhhhhhy”. I think most everyone could agree that those two words are their favorite parts of “Human Nature”. The sweetly introspective cry in the distance…Well, that at those incoherent words he mumbles just under the hook in the background. What is he saying? Oh well. There was always something about Mike hitting those high registers that did something to me, that did something to everyone. So sweet and effortless and pure, and yet so unrefined in its innocence. He didn’t use it enough, partly because he didn’t need to and also partly because it’d have probably looked weird moonwalking while singing in falsetto. But when he did it, oh boy, did he do it. Sweet. Effortless. Pure. The sweetness…

7. Barry Gibb/The Bee Gees

Was it the pants that caused the voices, or vice versa? Either way, we got some great sounds out of it. How many of us can sing a Bee Gees song not in falsetto? I rest my case. (For those of you who may have raised your hand, the singing Gods shall strike you for such blatant false telling.) I believe the Bee Gees came out of the womb singing in falsetto. And I can’t say that I blame them. When you do it as effortlessly and as energetically as they’ve managed to do for years, why disturb a formula for success?

6. Marvin Gaye

Air. And fire. And water. And just about every element in between. This man’s voice will send you on a mind trip you may never want to return from. There aren’t nearly enough songs featuring Gaye’s falsetto to suit me. He’s one of few artists who can enthuse the power of a note belted out with the ferocity of a wounded lion, into a note barely whispered into the darkness. Equally ruthless seducer and helpless victim, listening to him, you feel both urges to sucumb and overcome. A mind trip indeed…

5. Smokey Robinson

Although his writing and producing talents far surpassed that of the vocal, Smokey Robinson defined the sound of a generation. Lazy, just a little cocky and full of tremors and wavers that undoubtedly mirrored those he physically induced in countless women, Robinson’s delivery can be both “boy next door” and “boy in girl’s bed next door”.

4. Phillip Bailey

One piece of the musical powerhouse Earth, Wind & Fire and an undeniable offspring of Eddie Kendricks, Bailey’s voice has traces of its father all through it. Lacking the character of Kendricks but an upgrade in vocal range, and wild and upbeat where Eddie was smooth and a bit more reserved, Bailey made an identity for himself in the 70s with his daring improvisations and infectious melodies. A powerful instrument with the ability to carry songs on its own, Bailey’s voice inspired the music as much as the music inspired it. The reasons, indeed.

3. El DeBarge

If I had to describe his voice, I would compare to that of a bell…A really pretty, light skinned bell…That maybe liked drugs a little too much. No but seriously folks, El Debarge has probably the most recognizable falsetto in R&B. I couldn’t appreciate then as I do now, but it was unaffected and damn near perfected. He had the school boy charm with the fashion model looks, funny how it never overshadowed the voice. An excellent writer/producer and undoubtedly a music sampler’s staple, he sounded much like his brother Bobby, but managed to pump out a few more hits. If you like music, you love him.

2. Russell Thompkins, Jr

Grossly underrated and largely unrecognized, most people don’t have a clue who Russell Thompkins even is. But ask anyone from Mary J. Blige to Whitney Houston and they could tell you. Turn your radio to any station dedicated to the golden oldies, and you’d know him too. “People Make The World Go Round”, “You Are Everything”, “Betcha by Golly, Wow”, “Break Up To Make Up”, “Stop, Look, Listen (To Your Heart)”… Ring a bell now? Former lead singer of The Stylistics, Thompkins voice is as clear as a whistle and just as effective in bringing you to a standstill. Thompkins voice is a clinic in falsetto. Period.

1. Eddie Kendricks

I’ve often said, if there were a perfect man, he would be Eddie Kendricks. Sweet, shy and beautiful. And that’s just me talkin bout’ the man. The voice is something more altogether. It was sweet and shy and beautiful, yes. But it was also rough and throaty; a result of just the right blend of talent, life experiences and yes, the cancer stick. Instantly recognizable and massively influential, Kendricks spawned a slew of copycats that didn’t fool us for a minute. There’s just something about that voice that can’t be reproduced, that won’t allow it to be imitated. You can’t capture it and you damn sure can’t contain it. It’s…Eddie.

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Barry Gibb, Michael Jackson Shawn Stockman The Bee Gees Marvin Gaye Smokey Robinson Phillip Bailey El DeBarge Russell Thompkins Jr Eddie Kendricks

Tragically Brilliant

Multifaceted, multi talented and through it all, multi troubled. If one could survive on mere talent alone, for these 5 artists, the perplexities that are the experiences of the human life cycle would be but whispers of their normal selves. So much talent, so much time left in a life cut much too short, much too tragically. Talent can be such an obscure thing, one of those “in the eye of the beholder” things. Here? No. Here, it’s undeniable. But not even talent can save you from the deadliest of diagnosis: self-destruction. There won’t be any delving into the life history of the 5 artists that continue to fascinate, frustrate and sadden me. No long rambling philosophical theories on what went wrong in the end. This will be merely a reflection of my first memories of these artists and why they affect me. God save good music.

I can remember watching Spike Lee’s “School Daze” as a little girl, sitting on the floor in front of the television, staring in awe at this beautiful but oddly dressed curvaceous black woman singing on stage. Ample bosom spilling out of a deeply plunging neckline, shoulder pads that seemed to reach her ears, a high arching hat adorned with sparkles that matched those draping from her ears and exaggerated facial expressions breathing more life into the marvelous sounds. I can remember watching her and thinking “How fascinating and yet, how…fascinatingly odd.” And then I can remember my mother coming into the room, stopping to watch this fascinating woman, shaking her head in that way that only black women do for other black women. You know, that “That girl is bad” head shake. My mother would watch a few seconds more and shake her head again, but the admiration is gone. This head shake is one of sadness and disappointment as she walks away. “You know, she committed suicide”. That was my very first impression of Phyllis Hyman. An odd woman who killed herself. Sadly, that’s all many choose to take away from her life: That she chose to take away her own.

I would hear this song on the radio sometimes. Usually, and especially then, if you could catch me in the very beginning of a song, you had me. And this song had me. I loved the music, but then I heard the voice…

“Measure for measure, your love’s so much pleasure.
Like a haunting melody, you came inside and captured me….
You know how to love me.
You know how to make it right”

Some songs literally make you feel good all over. This was one of those songs. But I never thought beyond the melody, never thought beyond the voice to the singer. I just really liked the song and the voice of the woman who sounded all too happy to happy to be singing it.

I would hear this other song on the radio sometimes. But this one didn’t make me feel good all over. But it made me feel. This one was a haunting melody.

“…Now I love what’s in my life and I find it’s a mellow world
I’m not even the same I’m a different girl
Yesterday I was somebody’s baby
Now today I’m a woman on my own
Whoa Oh I can’t stand this living all alone
Whoa Oh I can’t stand this living all alone”

Even as a child I could hear the pain, the deep longing, the sadness and even the desperation. Even if I hadn’t experienced these things, not yet, I somehow knew that she had. That she was.

Phyllis Hyman’s gift was her ability to emote, to paint every color of feeling into a lyric. But it was also the death of her. A devastating mix of talent, beauty, and mental instability, her life was one simply too big for even her. I think about how she never truly got a chance to shine. She was a square peg, never fitting where she should have, never being allowed to just be. I’m still in a phase of discovery with Phyllis. But each song I unearth reveals a different surface of her. It’s a pleasure to experience the journey.

 

Why does it seem that whenever one is in the throes of emotional turmoil, a Donny Hathaway record is never far from reach? It seems no other artist has managed to capture the sound of inner and outer turmoil quite the way he has. The voice. That voice…And that’s as far as we ever seem to get. Can never quite describe it, never quite put a finger on what it is that moves us so profoundly about it. All we know is that it’s his. From the very first note we know it’s his. Unbelievably rich, soulful, smooth, sexy, melancholy… And yet still, no single word or combination will ever do it justice.

My very first recollection of Donny Hathaway’s voice was at Christmas time. I would hear this song, unlike all the others. It was warm and real and true. Not a manufacture of false cheer.

“Hang all the mistletoe
I’m gonna get to know you better.
This Christmas.
And as we trim the tree
How much fun it’s gonna be together
This Christmas”

It’s amazing to see how simple the lyrics are, but with the heart he pumps into every syllable, you would swear he was reciting the most eloquent of poems. Nothing can ruin this song for me. Not even Christina Aguilera’s ear bleeding remake of it.

And that voice. That voice. My first thought was that it reminded me of Stevie Wonder’s. The crispness of it, the clarity and throatiness of it, the seemingly effortless prowess of it. But I quickly came to learn the differences of the two. Wonder’s voice is that of a method actor, morphing into characters. The whispers, the shouts, the whines serving as leading men to countless stories of love unrequited, social chaos and romantic affairs of the heart.

Hathaway’s voice was slightly more subdued, more that of a serious concentrated actor. But no less devastating. Devastating. Now there’s a word. And in assuming the insurmountable task of describing such a talent, perhaps it is the most fitting. The man was a mastermind. A piano prodigy and genius composer, Hathaway wore several different hats. And he wore a mean hat.

His songs have been grossly butchered and over song and over covered. I suppose this is the sincerest form of adulation. But it never fails to piss me off. I guess I better get over it quick though. American Idol doesn’t look to be ending anytime soon and lord knows “A Song For You” hasn’t been sung enough during the auditions.

I think about the unmade records that would have undoubtedly been added to my life’s soundtrack, and can’t help but to feel cheated. Cheated out of a moment, an emotion, a memory. Cheated out of the pleasure of watching him grow old and bask in the knowledge of being one of the greatestest to ever do it. But then I pop in one of his records…all is forgiven.

No runs here. No vocal Olympics flipping and tumbling throughout one note, leaving you exhausted, amazed and maybe even a little annoyed by the end of it all. No indiscernible lyrics protected by artistic license but cause for a flip or two through the lyric page. No edgy lyrics for that matter. No Aretha shouts, no Donna Summers mewls, no Diana Ross coos and no Gladys wails. And yet, Karen Carpenter’s approach to singing was perhaps one of the hardest.

To sing simply, and to simply sing.

And yet still, we are enamored with her. Just listening to her voice. it’s so easy to forget or never wish to delve deeper into all the facets of her immense talent. The utter musicality of her. An accomplished percussionist, Karen played the drums as effortlessly as she sang. But nobody wanted to see a drummer sing. Forced to drop the sticks and pick up the mic, she seemed to never miss a bit. Her voice could be light and playful, carefree. But it was always the deeper registers that resonated with me most. It was there you could hear and feel the sadness that, in time, began to manifest itself physically.

This is what made Karen Carpenter brilliant. And this is what made Karen Carpenter tragic.

For years, I never truly considered The Carpenters viable artists worth listening to. They always seemed kind of corny. I mean come on, a brother and sister duo? They were only a few siblings shy of being the Partridge Family in my book. The fact that their songs always seemed to be played during comically sappy moments in movies didn’t help either. And then YouTube came along. I don’t remember why or how I came across them. But as is the case with many things on YouTube, they just seemed to find me. It was a Bacharach-David Medley, fast tempo and not earth shattering by any means. But they caught my attention, even with the goofy looking hair. Her voice never wavered as she played the drums. Not once. It simply melted from one note to the next. It was soothing and rich. And the harmonies. It was like watching a clinic in how to do it right. So spacious and…perfect. I wanted to see more. So I clicked on the next link. And the next. And the next. I was hooked. Literally pitch perfect and damn near flawless tone. Sometimes you just want to hear somebody sing! And let everything else come as it may. The emotions, the inflections… Sometimes you don’t want a voice telling you how to feel. Sometimes you want the choice. Karen Carpenter gave you this.

 

Michael Jackson stole from this man.

Not having to know another single detail about David Ruffin, this one fact, by default, makes him a bad ass man. But knowing what we do know about David Ruffin, by right, makes him a bad ass man. Grossly underrepresented as one of the greatest vocalists of all time, to put it simply, the man had range. A raspy, guttural voice paired with a long skinny frame and thick black wire rimmed glasses made up who we know as David Eli Ruffin.

I can’t recall my first memory of David Ruffin. He was just kind of always there. I know that I would hear My Girl or The Way You Do the Things You Do and know instinctively that it was the Temptations. I knew they were from Motown. I knew some of their names. I knew the dance- the Temptation Walk- that my siblings and I would mimic. I appreciated the Temptations as one of the pieces of my life fabric. But it wasn’t until a made for televisions miniseries about the Temptations was released in 1998 that my appreciation turned to outright fascination. I rushed out to my local library and checked out any and all videos featuring the Temptations. My favorite being The Motown Review hosted by Dusty Springfield. My mom jumped in and bought the Temptations Anthology and we’d listen to each CD over and over. Learning new lyrics and singing along to the ones we already knew. I took it a step forward and created an elaborate Motown picture album, featuring the Temptations. I slaved for days, cutting and pasting, positioning each picture just so. Making sure it was chronologically correct, and optimized for the greatest viewing pleasure. I took it to my Junior High School and showed it off proudly to classmates. Scolding and correcting those who mistook David for Eddie King Jr. “He was the inspiration for Eddie King Jr. The Temptations were the inspiration for The Five Heartbeats. Get it right!” I realize now how uncool I must have appeared. But I didn’t care. I was enamored with the group, verging on obsessed. I’ve always been a fan of genius; to have 5 all together was too much.

But it wasn’t until the emergence of YouTube that I began to single out David Ruffin from the group. Up til then I was starry eyed over who I thought was the cutest of the five: Eddie Kendricks. That man’s shy, sweet smile drove me crazy….Hmmm… But where Eddie was sweet and magnetic, David was explosive and dynamic. He was the catalyst for the rhythmic storm that was The Temptations. The showman. The headliner. The show stopper. I would look at him and see Michael Jackson, I’d see where Michael took. The smooth stage gait and head nods to accentuate a lyric, the restless leg shake, even the way he held the microphone. And Michael took and made it all his own. But Michael couldn’t take the innate roughness, of both the man and the voice. The Temptations were known for their outstanding vocal range, both collectively and individually. In the spanse of one note, Ruffin could dive into the deepest growl and leap into the highest cry. Overwhelming, the talent of this man.

 

Oh. Oh yes…I remember now. You see, every so often I forget. I forget this one. I forget the rules of this one. To speak in past tense, to have a beginning and end date somewhere close to the name. To mention the word - in whatever tense - death. There’s just one problem with that. “Micheal Jackson is dead” is an oxymoron. I’ve always hated oxymorons.

No star shined brighter, no star ever will again. Michael Jackson made the bar, raised it and broke it off in everybody’s ass. What else can you do? How else can you do it when it’s already been done? And done so devastatingly BAD that anyone following would be made forever lacking? Not many artists manage to pump out hit after hit, much less a classic. Fewer still manage to create classics that speak to every human. Classics that not only serve as anthems for global turmoil, but as mood setters for the scene of undoubted acts of procreation and turn any surface into a dancefloor for infinite dance grooves. Michael Jackson is a genre in and of itself. The man breathed every ounce of life he had into each song. I guess if his music was dated I wouldn’t still feel so devastated. If you could pin his music to an era, as you can so many others, I wouldn’t feel this terrible emptiness I have of knowing there is absolutely no chance I’ll ever see this man perform live. I don’t even have the strength to write about his music properly, much less his dancing. So…I’ll leave it at that. For now.

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Pop Culture Music Music Commentary Michael Jackson Karen Carpenter Donny Hathaway Phyllis Hyman David Ruffin King of Pop The Carpenters