Motown And Politics: From Dancing To Marching In The Street
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The relationship between Motown and politics runs deep. At the heart of it was great music and a commitment to changing the world.
All decades are a period of change, but some change more than others. Motown’s peak era came during the 60s, when even this record company, with a firm eye on the balance sheet, would have been obliged to acknowledge the transitions taking place in a society obsessed with youth. The 60s’ youth revolution was vitally important, and if you were trying to sell music to the kids, you had to be aware of it or be totally, like, square. Motown and politics were slow to acknowledge each other, but when they did the results were explosive.
While no record label worked harder for success than Motown – a political story in itself – company boss Berry Gordy knew that the label’s music had to at least partially represent the young idea just as keenly as it delivered great grooves. After all, its motto, for a while at least, was “The Sound Of Young America”. To that end, this record company, associated almost purely with dancing and fun, placed some emphasis on message music and a certain brand of politics. But it trod carefully, spending much of the 60s couching its radical tendencies in commercial surroundings.
Take ‘Dancing In The Street’, for example. Long since declared an anthem of rebellion and street protest, there was little sign of Martha & The Vandellas imparting this message when the kids were dancing the jerk and the block to it in 1964. Yet time and an association with a particular era can make such connections apparent, and a song can take on a meaning beyond that which its writer originally intended. As Motown and politics began to suss each other out, Motown’s protest songs didn’t always need to be explicit – but sometimes they were.
Facing issues head on
There was plenty to protest about in 60s America. Segregation, the Vietnam War, police violence, lack of equal opportunity, etc. Vietnam certainly tempted Motown into numerous songs about missing your man sent far away by the draft, such as The Supremes’ ‘You’re Gone [[But Always In My Heart)’ [[1967) and Martha & The Vandellas’ ‘Jimmy Mack’ [[1967). The first example doesn’t mention the ultimate sacrifice, but its funereal tone suggests it. The second is about being tempted to stray while your true love is elsewhere – an elsewhere that goes unspecified, but listen to that marching beat: you can guess where Mr Missing is.
But Motown also faced the Vietnam issue head on: The Valadiers’ ‘Greetings [[This Is Uncle Sam)’ [[1961), and Edwin Starr’s ‘War’ and ‘Stop The War Now’ [[both 1970) spelt it out, though the artists took a very different approach across 10 years. The Valadiers’ record was mournful, with a jokey talkover; Starr’s songs were harsh, funky and furious. A gentler example of the way Motown and politics coalesced around Vietnam came courtesy of The Supremes’ glorious 1970 smash ‘Stoned Love’, which spoke of ending war between nations thanks to understanding and love. Far darker – and horribly real – Tom Clay’s ‘The Victors’ [[1971) was a roll call of lost soldiers and their [[frighteningly young) ages, soberly read over a sombre version of ‘The Last Post’.
Clay’s record was a single. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t chart. It’s B-side, ‘Tom Clay’s What The World Needs Now Is Love’, finds him asking a child about various social evils over a version of the Bacharach-David song in the title, and receiving innocent answers. Then a soundtrack of news reports of various brutal outrages in the US, including the assassination of President Kennedy, takes over as the music changes to ‘Abraham, Martin And John’. This song, written by Dick Holler and a hit for Dion in his folk period, marked a key point in the career of Marvin Gaye: his 1969 cover unlocked a positive direction for the singer. He had previously tried everything from show tunes to R&B belters, and was best known as a love man through his late 60s records with Tammi Terrell. But he was now seeking a musical style that reflected his disquiet at the state of the world.
There’s too many of us dying
Within two years Marvin would release What’s Going On, regarded by many as the ultimate soul protest album. However, it seemed that Gaye’s audience, more accustomed to him as a romantic singer, was only willing to accept so much protest material from him: his explicitly political 1972 single ‘You’re The Man’ didn’t make the same impact, and the singer returned to intimacy in 1974 with Let’s Get It On, an album that initially sold better than What’s Going On. Marvin may have spearheaded the relationship between Motown and politics in the wider sense, but his later work would see him turn to personal politics, with Here, My Dear and In Our Lifetime proving unflinchingly honest examinations of his state of mind.
