| When
I was 15, I met the Four Tops on a downtown Detroit street, where
they were doing a photo shoot with the Supremes.
The group-especially Duke Fakir-were extraordinarily kind to a trio
of white kids totally out of their element. I love the Four Tops for
that, but I would have loved them anyway. They are the voice of adolescent
angst and adult heartbreak, the pure, the absolute joy that humans
can take in one another. Call them love songs I'd say it was
more like lifelines-but call them silly and you've branded yourself
as a fool.
Phil Spector once said that "Bernadette" was a black man
singing Bob Dylan. The name of that black man was Levi Stubbs. And
for those of you who are Bruce Springsteen fans, go find the Tops
greatest album, The Four Tops Second Album, and listen to "Love
Feels Like Fire" and "Helpless," two of my alltime
Motown tracks (and they weren't even singles). You'll feel the same
thing. Those crazed sax breaks are as close to free jazz as Motown
ever let itself come, and they got away with it there solely because
the Tops were such a perfect machine with the most powerful voice
of its time at the fore. I could never figure out whether Levi was
the toughest or the tenderest singer at Motown, so I finally accepted
that he was both.
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Yeah,
a lot of the Tops is formula Holland Dozier Holland. Sometimes even
I think it's the Supremes when the intro to "It's the Same
Old Song" or "Something About You" comes on. So what?
To begin with, HDH created the greatest formula in the history of
rock and soul. Now: Go listen again to "Reach Out" and
see if you can think of a Supremes record that could grab you in
the gut that way. It's the "Like a Rolling Stone" of soul-with
a flute and hand percussion leading the way! The group always got
Eddie Holland's greatest lyrics (and he the most under-rated lyricist
of the '60s) and that's one.
They got those songs because Levi could sing the most impossible
stuff. Any other soul singer I know would have insisted on editing.
The great, long, image rich lines in "Bermandette" and
"Ask the Lonely" were too long, that they needed more
space to really sing. Not Levi. He charged into those words and
wrestled everything out of them, and somehow, he sounded graceful
as he did. "Loving you has made my life sweeter than ever"
is so multisyllabic that they had to shorten it for the title: "Loving
You Is Sweeter Than Ever" fit the label better, I guess.
The Tops got away with that as a group because they knew how to
work with such vocal intricacy. By the time they had their first
Motown hit they'd already been together for ten years. Duke told
me recently that their earlier sojourn at Columbia Records in the
late '50s came after a brief appearance at the Apollo. The talent
scout who signed them was John Hammond-the same guy who found Bob,
Bruce, and Aretha. That's the company the Four Tops, and Levi Stubbs,
in particular belong in. Who else could turn "Walk Away Renee"
into soul music? Who else could get away with "7 Rooms of Gloom"
as a love song without a hint of irony, let alone comedy?
I will testify. Levi and the Tops were among the graces of my own
soul. When I get nervous before an interview, I always remember
how kind those guys were to that 15 year old kid, and I feel beyond
harm. When I listen to "The Same Old Song," I remember
once again the sweetness of sour. "Bernadette" calls to
my mind the futility of believing you're in control, and how easy
it is to confuse passion with obsession. "Reach Out" is
simply as colossal an extravaganza as rock and soul music have ever
produced, as monumental in its way as "Like a Rolling Stone."
The focal point of all that musical gingerbread and the mighty Funk
Brothers is not the group-it's one man, Levi Stubbs, pushed not
to his limit but way past it. But there's not a hint-not a second-where
Levi Stubbs sounds like anything but a guy from down the street,
across the way or in your mirror. Imagine a Pavarotti on the corner.
There he is. All of it helped, somehow, make my own life possible.
This is no case of "Shake Me, Wake Me (When It's Over)."
Levi Stubbs was 72 years old. He hadn't been in good health for
several years. This isn't Marvin Gaye or David Ruffin or Tammi Terrell.
This is a man who made his full contribution to our culture, our
lives. That doesn't make it all that much easier to hear the word.
At the Tops' golden anniversary show in Detroit several years ago,
he sang from a wheelchair. "There wasn't a dry eye in the house,"
his friend and attorney, Judy Tint, told me this afternoon.
Ain't any in this house today, either. Dave Marsh, 10/17/2008
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