#64 - The Supremes' "Where Did Our Love Go?" (1964)

Applying the term "girl group" to The Supremes, though technically accurate, comes off dismissive when you're talking about the most successful American act of the 1960s.  So many things had to go so right for this album to sound so good that lumping them in with all of the one-hit wonders and copycats is a disservice not only to the talent of Diana Ross, Mary Wilson, and Florence Ballard, but to the vision of Berry Gordy, the songwriting of composers like Smokey Robinson, and the priceless contributions of the woefully anonymous "Funk Brothers," Motown's in-house session band.  While much media grist has been made of the internecine strife between the group's members, there is less than no evidence on these recordings of their inability to harmonize, literally or figuratively.  In addition to the well known title track, "Baby Love," and "Come See About Me," the girls tear it up on Robinson's "A Breath Taking Guy," closing out the song by taking turns on the lead.  And how about the uncredited guitar work on "I'm Giving You Your Freedom"?  It starts out with just some simple plucking and gradually becomes more sophisticated as it bubbles up through the vocals.  But no one outshines Ross, whose honey-dipped voice sets the tone for every single song.  With singers like Tina Turner and Aretha Franklin about to come through the pop pipeline in the mid-60s, it's remarkable to hear a front-woman who opts for seductive restraint over unbridled power.  Diana Ross & The Supremes make love, not war. Grade A

#63 - Sam Cooke's "Night Beat" (1963)

Night Beat is a nearly-perfect album that happens to be inside-out.  I say "inside out," because it almost follows the arc of a live show, only in reverse.  From the twelfth track to the first, Sam Cooke & company go from "late" to "later" to "last call" to "last chance" to "late for church."  Beginning at the end with the bawdy barn-burner "Shake, Rattle & Roll," the whole band gets behind him on the chorus to raucous effect.  And while it's definitely a strong song to close on, it would have worked even better as an opener, if only to get the sweat out of the crowd as the clock heads for the wee hours.  From there, Sam and the boys could settle into the slow dances of "Fool's Paradise" and "Trouble Blues."  Then, he could devastate the place with the minimalist blues of "Lost and Lookin'" (which may be the best song by Cooke you've never heard) and a return to his roots with the The Soul Stirrers on "Nobody Knows the Trouble I've Seen."  It is a traditional gospel song that he makes all the more classic with his plaintive rendering backed by a gently jangling guitar.  What you don't hear on this album is almost as interesting as what you do.  There is a profound lack of soloing.  In fact, the instrumentation at all times - with the regrettable exception of "Little Red Rooster" - is complementary, but not conspicuous.  Cooke takes full advantage of the space his band affords him, filling the cavernous studio with his rich, pure tones.  Call it the "Well of Sound" approach.  Even on "Laughin' and Clownin'," where he instructs his pianist to "tickle" the keys for him, he augments the moment with some playful vocal runs.  Almost every available surface is lacquered in Cook's sweet, soulful voice.  And with singing like that, why wouldn't they be?  "Little Red Rooster" is a solid cut, to be sure.  It's the only one that also appears on the excellent 31-track career retrospective Portrait of a Legend, 1951-1964.  Here, though, it seems just the tiniest bit out of place.  The band comes closer to the forefront and, at one point, the organ player even mimics the sounds of dogs a-barkin' and hounds a-howlin', like a rock 'n' roll version of "Livery Stable Blues."  It belongs in the song only slightly more than actual canine accompaniment.  Still, this is a minor misstep in an otherwise inspired set.  Night Beat provides further proof to the amply-supported thesis that Sam Cooke knows soul, backwards and forwards.  Grade: A