#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

#48 - Ike & Tina Turner's "River Deep ~ Mountain High" (1966)

If half the stories about Phil Spector are true, then he is a mad genius on the order of Drs. Frankenstein and Jekyll.  But whereas most people focus on the monstrosity of their creations, we shouldn't forget that all three, as scientists, were also visionaries.  Whether you're dallying in corpse reanimation, striving to unleash the human beast, or toiling away at a towering Wall of Sound, you will meet your fair share of naysayers.  By 1966, the public's fickle tastes had veered far away from the early- to mid-60s smashes of "Be My Baby" and  "Then He Kissed Me."  Suddenly there seemed to be no room at the inn for the meticulous, orchestral pop Spector had made so famous, no room unless your album was called Pet Sounds or Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.  By any reasonable artistic standard, River Deep - Mountain High is amazing.  Tina Turner's singing throughout is a thing of raggedly majestic beauty.  On the title track, you can actually hear the toll that Spector's fastidious obsession has taken on her voice and it still manages to transcend his dense, overwhelming production.  Stylistically, Turner is unstoppable.  She goes blow for blow with the blues on "I Idolize You," matches the sound of a late-night soul throw-down on "A Fool in Love," and injects some R&B power into the pop of "A Love Like Yours (Don't Come Knocking Everyday)" and "Save the Last Dance."  If Ike Tuner was integral as a sessions musician or as the bandleader for their stage show, you couldn't tell that from this.  He does kick in some nice bass vocals on "Make 'Em Wait," but his contributions to "It's Gonna Work Out Fine," the album's closer - and only clunker - are embarrassingly bad.  It's an artless, egotistical intrusion - like when Diddy used to do that pointless cheerleading over a Biggie Smalls track.  This is a nearly perfect album, showcasing Turner in her prime and Spector at the height of his game.  It's...aliiiive!  Grade: A 

#14 - Solomon Burke's "Don't Give Up On Me" (2002)

1940-2010

 
Speaking of soul, there's so much beauty on this spare, simple album, which has been rightly compared to Johnny Cash's American Recordings.  With songs contributed by Bob Dylan, Elvis Costello, Tom Waits, Brian Wilson, Van Morrison and Nick Lowe, this album is chock full of wise lyrics and beautiful performances.  Highlights - including a guest spot by the Blind Boys of Alabama, whose voices complement Burke's perfectly - abound.  So, after the shooting in Arizona and the President's plea for greater love and civility, I think I'll just transcribe the lyrics to album closer, "Sit This One Out."  Grade: A-

The night’s getting old
and your eyes are weary.
You can’t see clearly
and your nerves are thin.
A half-eaten meal
and a tear on the table.
We don’t seen able
to hold our anger in.

Chorus:
Love sometimes
takes the form of frustration.
It’s a sad combination
of emptiness and doubt.
But, our only human connection
is expressed with a shout.
Well, I think I'm gonna have to just sit this one out.

There was a time
when we could sit and talk about things together.
No, we didn’t shout about things, at all.
We laughed, we loved, we played
and said what we had to say.
But there’s nothing to do now
and I don’t have a clue how to rise above it all.

Chorus

Can I rise above it all?
I don’t even have a clue.
Sometimes I feel like I’m going to fall.
So, I just hold on, don’t let go -
don’t give up everything that you work for so long.
Don’t destroy yourself in a second, with anger.
Hold on, a change will come.
I just wanna say:
I think I'm gonna have to sit and work this one out.

#13 - Otis Redding's "Complete & Unbelievable: The Otis Redding Dictionary of Soul" (1966)

I don't know what it means that as years go by I find myself increasingly enamored by classic soul music.  Just as the malnourished crave the very food their bodies need, maybe my burgeoning interest in soul is my spirit's not-so-subtle way of telling me what it's been missing.  At any rate, I've been thrilled in recent years by James Brown, Percy Sledge, Etta James, Ray Charles, Jackie Wilson, Solomon Burke, Candi Staton, and their very worthy white counterpart, Van Morrison.  But when I really need a fix, no stars sit as high in my sky as Sam Cooke and Otis Redding.  Rightly or wrongly I see in them the fundamental elements that make soul what it is.  From the former, we get that injection of gospel he honed with the Soul Stirrers.  From the latter, we get that gruff sound, that deep southern sensibility marinated in the blues.  Listen to their live work and you'll know that both could tear the roof off a club.  Both could pen lyrics fit to break your heart.  With this album, Redding shows off not only his songwriting and vocal virtuosity, but his comfort with diverse styles.  At turns he is plaintive, gritty, thrilling and always, always charismatic.  Unsurprisingly, "Try a Little Tenderness" is the standout track.  His patient restraint as the song builds and builds towards its crescendo suggests an artist in full control of his craft, someone whom Yeats might say has "come into his force."  But there are other equally amazing moments: his back and forth with the horn section on "Fa-Fa-Fa-Fa-Fa (Sad Song)"; the way he summons such believable emotion on "My Lover's Prayer"; the effortless cover of "Day Tripper," which, along with his amazing take on "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" elsewhere, shows he could have just as easily done some moonlighting as a rock singer if his day job hadn't panned out.  Lastly, I have to mention how much I love "She Put the Hurt on Me."  Rarely has such pain sounded like such fun.  Also, Peter Gabriel fans will laugh when they hear the opening of "I'm Sick, Y'all" and find out where that iconic "Sledgehammer" horn intro likely came from.  There is one more connection between Cooke & Redding, too.  One died on Decembert 10th and one on December 11th, though four years apart.  Both went far too early.  Who knows what they might have had in store?  Grade: A

#10 - Cee-Lo Green's "The Lady Killer" (2010)

Retro music can be a crapshoot, especially when it’s in the wrong hands.  How do you walk the fine line between reverence and rehash, between classic and kitsch?  For every She & Him, a group that turned out an excellent 60’s-style pop album this year, there’s an Amy Winehouse who would prefer to forsake quality music for the Keith Richards’ Fitness Regimen.  Cee-Lo, who will likely and unfortunately be remembered more for “Fuck You” than for the majority of his work in Goodie Mob, Gnarls Barkley, or as a solo artist, had a great 2010.  His stellar contribution to The Twilight Saga: Eclipse soundtrack, “What Part of Forever,” featured some of the best whistling this side of an Andrew Bird album and – more impressively – made me listen to The Twilight Saga: Eclipse soundtrack.  The Lady Killer covers some serious musical territory over its 45-minute run-time.  You get 50’s crooning on “Old Fashioned,” 60’s cool on the Bond-inspired “Love Gun,” a funky 80’s bass line on “Bright Lights, Bigger City” – not to mention a fantastic take on Band of Horses’ “No One’s Gonna Love You.”  All that and a voice more than worthy of the material he has the good taste to resurrect.  Grade:  B+