The Hippest Trip in America (12 page)

 

Pop superstar Elton John made a landmark performance of “Bennie and the Jets“ on
Soul Train

 

But the song that put John on the black audience's radar is perhaps the oddest hit of his career. “Bennie and the Jets,” a song from the hugely successful
Goodbye Yellow Brick Road
album. If John had had his way, it shouldn't have even been a single. The song, written from the point of view of a fan watching a concert by a band called Bennie and the Jets, was not a typical subject for a big single. To buttress the lyric, crowd noises, taken from John's live shows and a bit of Jimi Hendrix's at the Isle of Wight festival, were laid over the vocals. The rhythm was kind of a stiff strut built around a choppy piano riff. John sings with a lot of energy and some falsetto, but very few people actually understand the words other than the chorus of “Bennie! Bennie! Bennie and the Jets!”

Still, this odd assortment of elements came together and had real appeal to black listeners. My sister Andrea, a huge soul music fan who had no interest in (and often contempt for) pop music, spent the summer of 1974 singing Taupin's hook, symbolic of the fact that “Bennie” would go to No. 1—not just on the pop chart but on the R&B chart too—and sell 2.8 million 45s. The fact that Andrea didn't really know the rest of the lyrics, save a word or two, spoke to the appealing power of its musical elements—Elton's piano and the jerky, funky rhythm.

Watching the performance now, with John wearing a bedazzled green bowler hat with matching green suit and one of his many glittering, customized pairs of glasses, pounding away at a clear plastic piano, you can tell he's totally jazzed to be there. Near the fade of “Bennie,” he freestyles a bit, egging on the dancers to join in. John, always a dynamic entertainer, seems electrified by the vibe in the room, resulting in a truly fun musical moment.

Theoretically, David Bowie's appearance on episode #165 should be discussed next, but before Bowie another group from the United Kingdom broke the
Soul Train
color line. The Average White Band from Scotland, students of Motown, Stax, and soul music of all kinds, would develop into an above-average funk collective. The original members met while attending university in Dundee, Scotland's fourth-largest city, where they were part of a soul-music-loving scene not dissimilar to the one captured in Roddy Doyle's novel (and the movie)
The Commitments,
about a similar soul scene in Dublin. Formed in 1972 by bassist Alan Gorrie and rhythm guitarist Onnie McIntyre, this tight six-piece band would eventually get signed to the classic soul label Atlantic Records, where, under the guidance of producer Arif Mardin, they'd cut a series of excellent 1970s albums.

Then there was David Bowie. Todd Oldham recalls that Bowie's appearance “was really a shock. Because, well, first of all, he didn't look too much like the other performers in any world, but certainly not on
Soul Train
. . . Well, he was so genuinely unusual, I think there was no reference point to assimilate David Bowie. It was kind of like you're going eighty miles an hour in a convertible. You didn't know what you were seeing.”

While Bowie had recorded his first eight albums as an androgynous glam rocker, on his ninth album he was inspired to create “plastic soul,” his take on the Sound of Philadelphia that was dominating dance floors in Europe as well as the United States. In the fall of 1974, Bowie camped out at Sigma Sound Studios in the City of Brotherly Love to record the bulk of his
Young Americans
album. The title cut was clearly influenced by watching Cornelius's show, with punning lyrical references to “Afro-Shelias” and “blacks got respect and whites got his soul train.” During the sessions, the British singer became impressed with the voice and songwriting of Luther Vandross, a young New Yorker singing background vocals. Later they would take a song Vandross had previously recorded on one of his Atlantic solo albums and rewrite it, calling the new version “Fascination” and including it on
Young Americans
.

“Fame,” a No. 1 single that was the last track on
Young Americans,
was actually recorded in New York's Electric Ladyland Studio, which had been opened by the late guitarist Jimi Hendrix. That record, which featured a fuzzy guitar riff and a down-tempo, oddly syncopated rhythm track, was cowritten by ex-Beatle John Lennon and displayed Lennon's usual quality of experimentation and pop success. And it was this track that would be Bowie's natural gateway onto
Soul Train
. Gone was the glitter. In its place was a pale blue suit and yellow shirt with a large collar. Bowie was entering the Thin White Duke phase of his career, when a more elegant and dressy soul aesthetic would define him. This appearance on
Soul Train
would be his introduction of this new direction.

As noted earlier, Don's interviews could often be awkward. But his chat with Bowie was unusually stiff, as the singer seemed a bit intimidated to be on the show. Cornelius may have unnerved Bowie, and that may have caused the dancers asking the singer questions to seem uncomfortable as well. Usually there was a giddy, excited quality to the interaction between the dancers and singers, but this felt strained. An interview Bowie did in 2000 with the BBC about his poor performances of “Fame” and “Golden Years” on
Soul Train
explains his behavior.

 

Bowie:
I do remember not knowing the . . . the words. I wasn't even buoyant enough to feel apologetic or . . . I mean, I really was a little shit in that way! I hadn't bothered to learn it. And the MC of the show, who is a really charming guy, took me on one side after the third or fourth take where I just had no idea what the lyrics were, and he said, “Do you know there are kids lined up to do this show, who have fought their whole lives to try and get a record and come on here?” And—and it made no . . . I know now, looking back, but at the time, it made no impression. His little speech to me, which was absolutely necessary . . . and I just screwed up the lyrics. I mean, I haven't even seen the show for years, so I can't even remember if it looked like I screwed it up . . . But I think maybe I wrote them out in the end and read them off a card or something . . . which I must say I now do all the time!

 

Though lackluster, Bowie's appearance was still a landmark for the show and, likely, whetted the appetite of a slew of 1980s British pop rockers to come on the show, something that would become unexpectedly and increasingly commonplace.

For all the fascination with white pop stars deciding to cross over to black television, there is one Caucasian singer for whom appearing on
Soul Train
was never a big deal. Mary Christine Brockert, known professionally as Teena Marie, released her debut album,
Wild and Peaceful,
on Motown Records in 1979 with the production and writing assistance of funk master Rick James. Her debut album didn't have the petite brunette's picture on the cover. It had a seascape, a Motown precaution to prevent the white singer from being prejudged by black audiences.

Once black folks heard Marie's music, her color didn't matter. “Teena Marie was, for many people, an honorary black person,” said scholar-author Tricia Rose, “you know, a black person trapped in a white girl's body. Nobody saw Teena Marie in my circles as a white woman somehow interloping or trying to act like she was soulful. She's not performing in a fake way. She is just an extraordinary singer, and her personal integrity comes through, so Teena Marie makes perfect sense. There was no sense of ‘Who is this white girl on
Soul Train
?' ”

Marie made her debut in episode #308 of the 1979–80 season alongside her mentor Rick James. She would become a regular, appearing four more times over the next five years and in a total of ten episodes during her productive career. Her ease with black folks came from growing up in Venice, California, in an area called Dogtown, best known as the home of a rebel group of skaters, Z-Boys, who'd become X Games legends.

While growing up in Venice, she had Mexican and black and surfer friends while obsessing over Smokey Robinson songs and watching
Soul Train
. “You know, I never really imagined that I would grow up to perform on the same stage with the Whispers or Al Green, and now I sing with Al Green,” she said. After showing vocal skills in a couple of bands, Marie met veteran Motown producer Hal Davis, who'd worked with the Jackson Five. Berry Gordy himself signed her, but it took several failed recording attempts before she and Rick James clicked. On her first
Soul Train
appearance, Marie performed the up-tempo “Sucker for Love” and the mid-tempo “Don't Look Back.”

 

Teena Marie:
I remember I had this pink butterfly costume on, and it had pink butterfly wings when I put my hands out. I was really, really excited to be on TV and have my people loving my music. [Performing on
Soul Train
] was really important because there wasn't a lot of shows for us, you know? My skin is white, but I'm not looked at like that. I'm a black entertainer and always have been very, very proud of my history and who I am. I didn't get played on a lot of white stations. I only had one crossover record in my whole career. It's because of black people that I am who I am . . . Black people had always embraced me and supported me as their own. It was never looked at as a black or white thing. Black people love good music, right?

 

Her favorite
Soul Train
performance occurred in 1988 when she performed her classic ballad “Ooo La La La” with choreography by her best friend, Mickey Boyce-Ellis, and backing vocals by two of the Mary Jane Girls. Grooving around the stage in intensely teased blondish-brunette hair and a tight black dress with see-through sections, Marie displays her soaring vocals while singing one of her self-penned love songs. With “Ooo La La La,” as with so many of her compositions, Marie manages to be girlishly romantic yet wisely adult.

After her extraordinary debut, Marie would record several superb albums for Motown, including her masterful
It Must Be Magic
in 1981, which includes her biggest R&B hit, “Square Biz.” Her tenure with Motown ended badly with a contract dispute in 1982. She recorded for CBS's Epic Records from 1983 to 1990 and had her biggest pop single, “Lovergirl,” but seemed pressured to abandon her soul roots and saw her sales falter. While hip-hop producers sampled her work throughout the 1990s and into the twenty-first century, Marie's output of new music slowed, though there were gems on every album she released.

In November 2010, she suffered a grand mal epileptic seizure. Then, on December 26, 2010, she was found unconscious at her home. The LA county coroner concluded that Teena Marie died of natural causes.

 

DANCER PROFILE:
Crystal McCarey

 

Crystal McCarey was one of the great beauties to grace the
Soul Train
dance floor, a woman who counted among her fans the Jackson Five and Marvin Gaye. These days she makes jewelry and sells it on her website, but from 1975 until the mid-1980s, she sparkled like a diamond herself. Yet life for this lean, lovely, fair-skinned lady was far from charmed. She grew up in
Soul Train
's hometown of Chicago and lived her early years relatively privileged, but then her family “wound up having to live on the verge of poverty for quite a while,” McCarey said.

In the 1950s, Crystal's mother, Barbara, was a showgirl and part of a revue of dancers selected to perform at Las Vegas's Moulin Rouge Hotel, Sin City's first black-owned entertainment establishment, which opened in 1955. That opening was an extremely noteworthy event:
Life
magazine documented it by putting a photograph of Barbara McCarey on its cover, and a
Las Vegas Sun
photo from May 1955 shows Barbara McCarey and six Moulin Rouge showgirls posed backstage in feathered tops, black skirts, and light-colored stockings. All are lovely, but Barbara's large eyes, full lips, dark black hair, and thin, athletic build stand out and forecast her daughter's future beauty. While the Moulin Rouge opened with great optimism, the enterprise was dogged by racism and never really took off. The casino hotel would burn down in 1957.

In the aftermath of that disappointment, Barbara McCarey “became a kept woman for a number of years, and we lived, like I said, very well,” her daughter said. “When that situation fizzled out, she did make some bad decisions, and she paid a very, very heavy price by having a stroke at the age of thirty-two . . . My mother was in a wheelchair. She lost complete control of the left side of her body. So she went from being a phenomenal dancer to being in a wheelchair.” Then her family ended up living in Chicago public housing, and it was during this sad period that
Soul Train
took on new meaning for Crystal.