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| Visualizing "towering." |
Despite recording one of the most popular soul numbers you’ve heard (from wherever you’ve heard it) - “Me and Mrs. Jones” - Billy Paul was surprisingly hard to research. He's pretty much pre-internet, which kinda sucks, because he’s got a rich story.
Paul started recording long before his success - as far back as 1952 (with two songs I can’t find) - and he crossed paths with some straight-up legends, becoming very close to one of them. He was inducted into the U.S. Army and served in Germany with Elvis Presley starting in 1957, but Paul couldn’t sell The King on a touring band he put together; Elvis focused on driving jeeps and keeping his nose clean and away from show business (all of it carefully managed and encouraged by Colonel Tom Parker). Much later in his career, Paul and his future wife/manager, Blanche Williams, grew close to Marvin Gaye, but, to the regret of The Roots’ Questlove, he never matched his friend’s reputation or influence. It was never for lack of trying or originality.
Even before they found Harold Melvin, even before they launched PIR, Gamble and Huff found Paul singing in a Philadelphia venue called The Sahara Club. Liking what they heard, they signed him to their then-label Gamble Records and put out his full debut album, 1968’s Feelin’ Good at the Cadillac Club. That album sounded nothing like his later material (and it didn’t work for me), and Paul explained the shift in an unexpected way:
“I was singing totally Jazz then, but when I heard the Beatles and heard the gospel influence and everything I just said: 'I can make jazz with R&B.' That transition came when The Beatles came out to America.”
While he called Billy Holliday his biggest influence - because he (generally) sang higher up the scale - Paul pulled inspiration from all over:
“I always liked Nat King Cole. I always wanted to go my own way, but I always favored other singers like Dinah Washington, Sarah Vaughan, Ella Fitzgerald – I loved Ella Fitzgerald. There are so many of them. Nina Simone was one of my favorites – Johnny Mathis, They all had a style, a silkiness about them.... I wanted to sing silky, like butter – mellow.”
Paul had one other album on Gamble Records, 1970s Ebony Woman, but his career didn’t launch until his second album on Gamble and Huff’s newly-launched PIR, 360 Degrees of Billy Paul. And this is where the real story/sturm und drang begins. Most of what little I see on his career frames it around two songs: first, the incredibly well-regarded “Me and Mrs. Jones” (performance on Soul Train right there) - which vied for the 1972 R &B Grammy against Ray Charles, Isaac Hayes and Curtis Mayfield and won (with Ringo Starr handing Paul the prize) - and then, the controversial song that Paul long-believed sunk his career, “Am I Black Enough for You?” At the time, he would have released something less confrontational to hold onto fans of “Mrs. Jones” (though he later acknowledged it as “ahead of its time”), but Clive Davis pushed “Black Enough,” with an assist from Gamble, who co-wrote the song. Radio stations shunned it for its “Black Power” message, which hurt sales and stalled Paul’s career.
With an assist from none other than Jesse Jackson (still working this one out), radio’s conservative sensibilities sabotaged two more Paul singles - “Let’s Make a Baby” and, even more bizarrely (which, here, means “fucked up”) his soul remake of Paul McCartney’s “Let ‘Em In.” Even some in the radio business accused Jackson of cynical attention whoring for attacking “Let’s Make a Baby’s” (Jackson’s words) “pornographic lyrics,” which the Reverend dodged by naming other artists he accused of the same (e.g., Roberta Flack’s “Jesse” and, bizarrely, Hall & Oates “Rich Girl”). The controversy surrounding “Let ‘Em In,” Paul’s tribute to America’s civil rights icons like Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcolm X was less from Jackson directly, than from an attempt by some of the same radio stations to get tight with him. In both cases, Chicago’s “oldest black-oriented radio station,” WVON, altered the lyrics - with “Let ‘Em In” by playing one of Jackson’s speeches over Dr. King’s (WHAT?) - breaking Paul’s heart along the way.
Let ‘Em In (1976) was still Paul’s second most successful album besides 360 Degrees, but his career sputtered after that. Paul puts some of that down to PIR losing interest in him to promote Teddy Pendergrass, who became a dominant figure in late 70s/early 80s R&B. Another source, a late interview with Paul and his wife, spoke of darker things: fevered resentment fueled by an out-of-control cocaine habit (as cocaine does; e.g., “one source had warned me not to interview Billy, because if I wrote anything negative the singer would kill me.”). The writer of that post-mortem defends Paul throughout the article (republished after Paul's death), but it’s clear that both he and his wife, as they say, went through some shit, and a lot of it.
About the Sampler
I had my favorites coming back to this one, most from the album that made him (insofar as anything did, 360 Degrees of Billy Paul: his most famous hits, of course - e.g., “Me & Mrs. Jones” and the still ass-kicking, “Am I Black Enough for You?” - but I held onto his cover of Elton John’s “Your Song” and added the sad and smooth (and pretty damn sure it’s a cover as well), “It’s Too Late.” Paul operated like an old crooner in some ways, putting his own spin on famous songs - and well.
The other two call-back albums are Got My Head on Straight - starting with another prior favorite, “Black Wonders of the World,” while adding a pair of new ones in “I’ve Got So Much to Live For” (bubbly!) and the perversely bouncy “Be Truthful to Me” - and one of his later albums, Only the Strong Survive, including the title track (think Elvis covered this one), the sly charmer, “One Man’s Junk,” and a fucking brilliant cover of The Doobie Brothers’ “Takin’ It to the Streets.” And…hold on, yes, I must have listened to Let ‘Em In because the title track is one of my early favorites and I still can’t believe what goddamn radio did to it; also included on the sampler are recent favorite (for its beautiful funk), “How Good Is Your Game,” a mellow 70s number called, “I Trust You.”
I branched out less than I thought I would - I only got to 1975’s When Love Is New for new material - but I shared “America (We Need the Light)” (which, for purposes of this post, I’m calling prophetic), “Let the Dollar Circulate” (same), and the sultry slow-jam, “I Want Cha’ Baby.” It’s not that far off from the, frankly, sweeter, “Let’s Make a Baby.” Censors are idiots…
The politics in and around Billy Paul’s career - that is, the ideas he gave voice to, and somehow too soon(?), but also the stupid, at least semi-opportunistic shit that other people pinned on him - aren’t a necessarily a bad lens to look through to try to understand him. But that voice and that phrasing…I don’t know which one’s trees and which one’s forest, but it’s a shame to think we’re losing either of them. Or, worse, both.
Paul started recording long before his success - as far back as 1952 (with two songs I can’t find) - and he crossed paths with some straight-up legends, becoming very close to one of them. He was inducted into the U.S. Army and served in Germany with Elvis Presley starting in 1957, but Paul couldn’t sell The King on a touring band he put together; Elvis focused on driving jeeps and keeping his nose clean and away from show business (all of it carefully managed and encouraged by Colonel Tom Parker). Much later in his career, Paul and his future wife/manager, Blanche Williams, grew close to Marvin Gaye, but, to the regret of The Roots’ Questlove, he never matched his friend’s reputation or influence. It was never for lack of trying or originality.
Even before they found Harold Melvin, even before they launched PIR, Gamble and Huff found Paul singing in a Philadelphia venue called The Sahara Club. Liking what they heard, they signed him to their then-label Gamble Records and put out his full debut album, 1968’s Feelin’ Good at the Cadillac Club. That album sounded nothing like his later material (and it didn’t work for me), and Paul explained the shift in an unexpected way:
“I was singing totally Jazz then, but when I heard the Beatles and heard the gospel influence and everything I just said: 'I can make jazz with R&B.' That transition came when The Beatles came out to America.”
While he called Billy Holliday his biggest influence - because he (generally) sang higher up the scale - Paul pulled inspiration from all over:
“I always liked Nat King Cole. I always wanted to go my own way, but I always favored other singers like Dinah Washington, Sarah Vaughan, Ella Fitzgerald – I loved Ella Fitzgerald. There are so many of them. Nina Simone was one of my favorites – Johnny Mathis, They all had a style, a silkiness about them.... I wanted to sing silky, like butter – mellow.”
Paul had one other album on Gamble Records, 1970s Ebony Woman, but his career didn’t launch until his second album on Gamble and Huff’s newly-launched PIR, 360 Degrees of Billy Paul. And this is where the real story/sturm und drang begins. Most of what little I see on his career frames it around two songs: first, the incredibly well-regarded “Me and Mrs. Jones” (performance on Soul Train right there) - which vied for the 1972 R &B Grammy against Ray Charles, Isaac Hayes and Curtis Mayfield and won (with Ringo Starr handing Paul the prize) - and then, the controversial song that Paul long-believed sunk his career, “Am I Black Enough for You?” At the time, he would have released something less confrontational to hold onto fans of “Mrs. Jones” (though he later acknowledged it as “ahead of its time”), but Clive Davis pushed “Black Enough,” with an assist from Gamble, who co-wrote the song. Radio stations shunned it for its “Black Power” message, which hurt sales and stalled Paul’s career.
With an assist from none other than Jesse Jackson (still working this one out), radio’s conservative sensibilities sabotaged two more Paul singles - “Let’s Make a Baby” and, even more bizarrely (which, here, means “fucked up”) his soul remake of Paul McCartney’s “Let ‘Em In.” Even some in the radio business accused Jackson of cynical attention whoring for attacking “Let’s Make a Baby’s” (Jackson’s words) “pornographic lyrics,” which the Reverend dodged by naming other artists he accused of the same (e.g., Roberta Flack’s “Jesse” and, bizarrely, Hall & Oates “Rich Girl”). The controversy surrounding “Let ‘Em In,” Paul’s tribute to America’s civil rights icons like Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcolm X was less from Jackson directly, than from an attempt by some of the same radio stations to get tight with him. In both cases, Chicago’s “oldest black-oriented radio station,” WVON, altered the lyrics - with “Let ‘Em In” by playing one of Jackson’s speeches over Dr. King’s (WHAT?) - breaking Paul’s heart along the way.
Let ‘Em In (1976) was still Paul’s second most successful album besides 360 Degrees, but his career sputtered after that. Paul puts some of that down to PIR losing interest in him to promote Teddy Pendergrass, who became a dominant figure in late 70s/early 80s R&B. Another source, a late interview with Paul and his wife, spoke of darker things: fevered resentment fueled by an out-of-control cocaine habit (as cocaine does; e.g., “one source had warned me not to interview Billy, because if I wrote anything negative the singer would kill me.”). The writer of that post-mortem defends Paul throughout the article (republished after Paul's death), but it’s clear that both he and his wife, as they say, went through some shit, and a lot of it.
About the Sampler
I had my favorites coming back to this one, most from the album that made him (insofar as anything did, 360 Degrees of Billy Paul: his most famous hits, of course - e.g., “Me & Mrs. Jones” and the still ass-kicking, “Am I Black Enough for You?” - but I held onto his cover of Elton John’s “Your Song” and added the sad and smooth (and pretty damn sure it’s a cover as well), “It’s Too Late.” Paul operated like an old crooner in some ways, putting his own spin on famous songs - and well.
The other two call-back albums are Got My Head on Straight - starting with another prior favorite, “Black Wonders of the World,” while adding a pair of new ones in “I’ve Got So Much to Live For” (bubbly!) and the perversely bouncy “Be Truthful to Me” - and one of his later albums, Only the Strong Survive, including the title track (think Elvis covered this one), the sly charmer, “One Man’s Junk,” and a fucking brilliant cover of The Doobie Brothers’ “Takin’ It to the Streets.” And…hold on, yes, I must have listened to Let ‘Em In because the title track is one of my early favorites and I still can’t believe what goddamn radio did to it; also included on the sampler are recent favorite (for its beautiful funk), “How Good Is Your Game,” a mellow 70s number called, “I Trust You.”
I branched out less than I thought I would - I only got to 1975’s When Love Is New for new material - but I shared “America (We Need the Light)” (which, for purposes of this post, I’m calling prophetic), “Let the Dollar Circulate” (same), and the sultry slow-jam, “I Want Cha’ Baby.” It’s not that far off from the, frankly, sweeter, “Let’s Make a Baby.” Censors are idiots…
The politics in and around Billy Paul’s career - that is, the ideas he gave voice to, and somehow too soon(?), but also the stupid, at least semi-opportunistic shit that other people pinned on him - aren’t a necessarily a bad lens to look through to try to understand him. But that voice and that phrasing…I don’t know which one’s trees and which one’s forest, but it’s a shame to think we’re losing either of them. Or, worse, both.
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