[Robert Crumb]

I. In The Beginning...

Somewhere down in the American South around the middle of last century, it became clear that an odd union had occurred. Well, it wasn’t so odd, really. The birth of Soul can be traced to this union, a moment in time when a multitude of R&B and pop sub-genres (among them, doo wop, jazz blues, Brill Building pop, jump blues, and the work of early girl groups) coalesced with the divine vocal styling of gospel music.

Of course, it wasn’t such an magically abrupt thing. Chances are you don’t get the opportunity to jump straight under the sheets on the first date; same usually goes for music. Like human beings, genres tend to romance one another. A series of subtle flirtations and sensuous nothings whispered in the ear and then, BAM! When you least expect it, there’s a sweet bundle of joy, an infant musical creature of infinite discernable difference compared to the creatures that begot it. That’s progress for you, right there.

And that’s why we look at a figure like Ray Charles, and say, “Yes! That there is the birth of Soul!” Because romance is fucking boring and we are impatient creatures. We want to get at the action. The build up is just that, a build up, a slow and steady climb to a climax, which in this context, is someone like Ray Charles.

We look at Ray Charles as the birth of soul for several reasons. Perhaps the most important reason is that of all the early soul artists, of all the musicians who performed the odd little motions of musical courtship, Ray Charles was simply among the best and the most versatile. Submitted for your approval, “Come Back Baby,” a sort of soul standard.

See, Ray Charles had the otherworldly crooning of gospel down pat, as his vocal presence displays so obviously here. Very few artists could do what Charles did throughout his career, lay his soul down so effectively on a recording device. But at the time, plenty others could do that very act proficiently enough to make Charles’ vocal feats somewhat unimportant. What makes a song like “Come Back Baby” (and Charles’ immediate impact on soul) important is that you have the exaggerations of the gospel vocal and topical matter that is clearly quite carnal. It’s blues and it’s gospel but the traditional religious pontificating of gospel fare is gone, replaced with the worldly themes of the blues. “Oh mama, please don’t go,” instead, of, “Sweet Lordy, here I come.”

Still, some things just seem inevitable. Regardless of Charles’ historical timing and profound skill, there were still plenty other artists in the late 50's who sought to translate their experience with the gospel choir into pop music success.

Sam Cooke and Jackie Wilson appropriately became figures in the evolution of Soul, since both made a noticeable and relevant impact. “You Send Me” was Sam Cooke’s breakout song, a fairly typical 50's pop ballad. However, the richness of Cooke’s croon is like sucrose, it’ll stick to yer fuckin’ ears. Cooke’s best work would come, however, in a short period just before his mysterious death with songs like “Shake” and a “A Change Is Gonna to Come.” His work, which was much poppier and less rugged than Charles’ overall, would have a specifically strong impact on uptown soul artists.

Wilson’s biggest achievement was probably the fact that he helped springboard the career of a young musician named Berry Gordy Jr., who penned the pop big band swing of “Reet Petite” and many of Wilson’s other late 50's hits. Afterwards, Gordy used the money from his small cut of success with Wilson to start up a record company in Detroit called Motown. In any case, Wilson’s energetic presence and elastic vocal chords certainly helped etch in his place in soul history. Plus, he did the awesome hit song “Higher and Higher” in the late 60's.

By the time the decade drew to a close, soul became a game of earth-shattering vocals. At least, that’s how a blues guy like Bobby “Blue” Bland rose to prominence within soul. Bland was the rare kind of bluesman who didn’t play an instrument. However, his crushing vocals, a twist of gospel and spatter of rock and roll holler, and his raw charisma ensured an audience, just as it did for Wilson. “I Pity the Fool,”might be more blues than soul but Bland’s phrasing made him an early ancestor of the southern soul dynamo.

But the man who defined dynamo, the man who perfected performance, charisma and stapled on determination and innovation for good measure was James Brown. Very few soul artists enjoyed the longevity Brown experienced, which was simply because he was the hardest working man in the business, no fucking joke. You can hear the effort on “Think;” the man belches out his lyrics with so much intensity, the beat, more subdued here than it would be later, but still driven with vigor. It was impossible for his music not to have a lasting effect on the genre.

So it was in the year nineteen-sixty. Soul caught fire with audiences, mostly black audiences, but anyone who could get their hands on the stuff could find something to dig. After all, the early wave of soul proved to be a massive influence of rock and rollers from both sides of the pond. But the concept of soul as a popular music hadn’t quite arrived.