The Pointer Sisters - That's a Plenty

The Pointer Sisters - That's a Plenty
by Christian John Wikane



“Hot damn–them girls is black!”

That was the response from one astounded audience member when Ruth, June, Anita, and Bonnie Pointer took the 1974 Grand Ole Opry stage to sing “Fairytale,” then a Top 40 country hit.

Right, country, pedal steel, fiddle ‘n all. You see, ten years before the Pointer Sisters dominated the airwaves with their Richard Perry-produced Break Out, they were confounding industry executives and delighting audiences with a remarkable blend of scat singing, bluesy wailing, and funk fabulousness on a set of albums they recorded for Blue Thumb Records. In the process, they set a precedent that’s yet to be equaled by any another female vocal group (don’t even think of putting the Puppini Sisters in the same class). They spun 180-degrees between musical epochs in thrift store threads and effortlessly navigated through different styles without losing their core soul and gospel-rooted sound.

That’s a Plenty (1974), which includes “Fairytale,” is the apex of the remarkable first phase of their three-decade career, a period since overshadowed by the ubiquity of their more commercially successful late-‘70s to mid-‘80s string of pop and R&B hits. Singles like “I’m So Excited” and “Jump (For My Love)” are usually the default associations that listeners make about the Pointers Sisters. I propose that That’s a Plenty, though not entirely obscure (it earned a gold record), deserves a moment or two to be reconsidered as an integral, defining moment of The Pointer Sisters’ career.

When That’s A Plenty hit shelves, introducing the group’s silhouetted flapper cover logo, The Pointer Sisters were still celebrating the impressive success of their self-titled debut and monster hit single, Allen Toussaint’s “Yes We Can Can.” The Pointer Sisters (1973) set the blueprint for That’s a Plenty’s motley mix: their canny ability to traverse a wide terrain of influences, refined by David Rubinson (who later produced the groundbreaking funk-rock of Labelle’s Chameleon). Rubinson helmed the production and assembled a dream roll call of session musicians and players, including Bonnie Raitt and Herbie Hancock. He steered the Sisters through nine songs that ranged from the swaggering blues of “Grinning In Your Face” to the exuberant jazz of “Little Pony” to the tongue-in-cheek nostalgia of the album’s opening “Bangin’ on the Pipes”/”Steam Heat” medley.

But a scatting excursion around Dizzy Gillespie’s “Salt Peanuts” is what sets the album’s genius in plaster. The deftness of each Sister’s rhythm and timing could blow 95% of any living popular female vocalist off the stage. Gaylord Birch’s frantic drumming sets the tune off and the Pointer Sisters pack an average twenty words into two-second phrases. The incredible words-per-second count never ceases to astound, especially if the lyric-printed sleeve is at your disposal. Even more impressive is that the Pointer Sisters replicated this performance on Live at the Opera House (1974), an album well worth a visit to hip-oselect.com. (Note: they were the first pop act to perform at the famed San Francisco venue.)

Both “Shaky Flat Blues” and “Fairytale” showcased how the Sisters’ natural songwriting affinity translated to different musical environs. The former matched the Sister’s tale about the woes of city living with a cool bass-drum-piano-guitar arrangement and slinky solos by Harry “Sweets” Edison on trumpet and Britt Woodman on trombone.

But the distress of smog and sirens gave way to the tear-in-my-beer sentimentality of “Fairytale.” Written by Anita and Bonnie, and sung with a trace of twang, “Fairytale” is as authentic a country ditty as anything Dolly Parton and Porter Wagoner recorded at the time. Rubinson even brought the quartet down to Quadraphonic Studios in Nashville to record the song, giving “Fairytale” an even more direct relationship to its country DNA. Appropriately, they were awarded a Best Country Performance by Duo or Group Grammy for the song.

In its remaining nineteen minutes, That’s a Plenty finds Bonnie Pointer laying down a riveting solo performance on “Black Coffee” that would make Peggy Lee proud while all four sisters vamp it up on the album’s breathless tribute to Dixieland, “That’s a Plenty/Surfeit U.S.A.” (Ruth is especially charismatic here in mastering vocal guises underneath the frenetic arrangement.) Closing the album is an eight-minute explosion of shekere, talking drum, and congas on Gamble & Huff’s “Love in Them There Hills.” The liberation of sexual mores only implied in the lyrics came alive in the underground gay clubs that embraced the song. Hot damn—this was the same Pointer Sisters who were regularly featured on Sesame Street and Carol Burnett.

Though the Pointer Sisters ultimately felt restrained by the outlandish Carmen Miranda-like costumes and Andrew Sisters comparisons, and turned to a more mainstream R&B sound by 1977’s Having a Party, That’s a Plenty provides compelling hindsight: They were true innovators and this album documents the blazing embers they left behind to get there. Three and a half decades later, That’s a Plenty remains a gleeful thrill ride.

Christian John Wikane is a contributing editor for PopMatters. He also writes for SoulTracks and David Nathan’s Soulmusic.com. He resides in Hell’s Kitchen, NYC.

Diana Ross - The Boss

Diana Ross - The Boss
by Christian John Wikane



Why doesn’t the critical cognoscenti consider Diana Ross an album artist? Diana Ross is scarcely represented in the canon of popular music by anything other than singles —but with good reason. Her solo efforts at Motown, by and large, varied in quality and didn’t always build on the strength of her biggest hits. For every “Touch Me in the Morning” or “Love Hangover,” there were two tracks of filler. Quite often, her albums were even padded with songs recorded from sessions up to five years old. With an average two album a year release schedule during the 1970s, inferior tracks were inevitable. You can almost forgive the oversight of Ross’ albums during that post-Supremes era.

“Almost” is the key word. Of the seventeen albums Ross released for Motown between 1970 and 1981 (excluding two compilations), four contain consistently superb material: Diana Ross (1970), Surrender(1971), The Boss (1979), and diana (1980). Each record paired Ross with individuals whose writing and producing styles pushed her to give the strongest performances of her career. Not coincidentally, Nick Ashford and Valerie Simpson produced three out of the four (the latter was produced by Chic’s Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards). From the outset of Ross’ solo venture, the dynamic songwriting duo gave her two signature songs, “Reach Out and Touch” and her masterful reworking of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.” It figures that they’d also create the gold standard against which any Diana Ross album should be adjudicated—The Boss.

In his Rolling Stone review of The Boss, Stephen Holden wrote, “Diana Ross looks and sounds like a sexy human being instead of a gaunt mannequin.” His observation is not without merit: Ross’ previous three studio albums, Diana Ross (1976, not to be confused with her 1970 debut), Baby It’s Me (1977), and Ross (1978) depicted the singer with an alluring but chilly visage. The music itself ranged from sublime dance floor cuts to beautiful, understated ballads to second-rate disco to forgettable schmaltz.

Ross had also starred as Dorothy in The Wiz (1978), a known flop. Suffering a critical and commercial blow was difficult for the star, but the film actually worked to Diana Ross’ advantage. Singing a vocally demanding song like “Home” strengthened her voice and expanded her vocal range exponentially. By the time The Boss sessions commenced, she was in command of her voice like never before. When the album hit record store shelves in May 1979, listeners saw and heard a completely confident and reinvigorated Diana Ross.

Track for track, Diana Ross brings sensuality and sensitivity to Ashford & Simpson’s pop-soul gems. Whether shouting with defiance or screaming with elation, there’s a vitality jumping out of her performances. Within seconds of “No One Gets the Prize,” the album’s sizzling opener, Ross unveils her newfound vocal prowess with a prolonged cry that intimates a kind of catharsis. Her muscled, exuberant timbre is the defining quality of the album. Ashford & Simpson made her sing harder and sassier than she’d ever sung before. “Back off,” she hisses to a backstabbing girlfriend. “I was denied the love that satisfied,” she cries towards the song’s conclusion. Though Ross plays the victim on “No One Gets the Prize,” her performance is triumphant.

Slowing the BPM count down a few beats, “I Ain’t Been Licked” contains Ross’ winning recovery from heartbreak. Ashford & Simpson weave a little gospel into the refrain, “They keep a-holdin’ me down but (I) rise.” The duo’s soaring background vocals, along with Ullanda McCullough and Raymond Simpson, complement Ross’ vocal elasticity here and on the album’s seven additional tracks.

“The Boss” is the exclamation point that closes side one. In fact, it was the only cut from the album to dent the both the pop (#19) and R&B (#12) charts. The winning combination of lush strings, punchy horns, Anthony Jackson’s winding bassline, and the propulsive kick-drum by John Sussewell could hardly be accurately transmitted through radio. This song was meant to be played loud in a club. (Interesting note: Ashford & Simpson’s own “Found a Cure” unseated “The Boss” in the number one spot on the dance charts.) “The Boss” is arguably Ross’ greatest performance, if only for the incendiary vocalizing she unleashes midway through the song.

The first-rate production by Ashford & Simpson, of course, is the album’s other star. Nowhere is this more apparent than on the gorgeous ballad, “Sparkle.” Buoyed by Valerie Simpson’s piano, the instrumental track is tinged with exotic flair. Ross’ voice rises from a misty backdrop of flutes, muted bass, cymbal brushes, harp, and percussion. Michael Brecker’s sax solo and Ross’ “ooh-ooh-whoo” intertwine for a sexy climax. Ashford & Simpson layer all the ingredients to underscore Ross’ longing in a way that’s both romantic and erotic.

Even though the album is chock full of such exceptional moments, The Boss narrowly missed the Top 10 (it eventually earned a gold record) and didn’t spawn a string of hits outside its incessant club play. Allegedly, the lack of promotion stemmed from Berry Gordy’s resentment that Ross was boldly stepping out from under his protective wing. The self-reliant spirit of the album foreshadowed Ross’ ultimate departure from Motown one year later, but not before she released the most commercially successful album of her career, diana, a masterpiece of a different kind.

What makes The Boss special is that every song is a vessel for Diana Ross’ gifts. Whereas other producers approached the singer like a fragile pearl, Ashford & Simpson treated her like a rough diamond. Whether the flirtatious charms of “It’s My House” or the tension of carnal desire and fulfillment that paints “Once in the Morning,” The Boss holds its own nearly thirty years later and dismantles any notion that Ross was only capable of hit singles, Classy, thrilling, and eminently soulful, the album remains a stunning musical achievement for Diana Ross.

Christian John Wikane is a contributing editor for PopMatters. He also writes for SoulTracks and David Nathan’s Soulmusic.com. He resides in Hell’s Kitchen, NYC.