PAST REVISITED REDUX
Text and Photos by Larry Benicewicz and Carol Campbell
You’ve got to give Bob Fountain credit. As far as putting on oldies shows in Baltimore, he’s always lifting the bar higher. On May 31, 2003, this car sales consultant staged one of the more memorable of such spectacles
-the Soul Classic Reunion Cabaret & Show-
at Baltimore’s downtown 5th Regiment Armory, which featured legendary local bands and singers of the 60s and 70s, such as Kenny Hamber, Winfield Parker, Tiny Tim Harris, the Royalettes, the Intruders, the Spindles, Harry “Doc Soul Stirrer” Young, and the Softones. Not to be outdone, he recently orchestrated a second, what would promise to be even a grander affair on April 20 at the Patapsco Arena at 3301 Annapolis Blvd.
Bob confided to me that he was somewhat discouraged by the turnout (which seemed to be ample) at this former extravaganza and was taking steps this time to ensure that this present venture would be much more successful. So, to this end, he recruited bigger headlining acts, like Gene “the Duke of Earl” Chandler and Tommy Hunt, while retaining the area crowd pleasers such as Hamber and Parker. In order to attract a wider Washington, D.C., following, he secured the services of popular, still active artists such as the Jewels and the Winstons. Wishing also to appeal to yet another demographic, he also saw fit to include an act, Tommy Vann, which would draw a white audience. And furthermore, catering to this latter, hitherto untapped market, Bob advertised heavily over WLIF-FM, college radio stations, and the City Paper and accorded any such interested parties easily accessible ticket outlets all over town, including Dan Brothers Shoes in South Baltimore and the Tuxedo Zone in upper Fell’s Point.
Concluding that the ticket price of the original presentation ($35) may have driven prospective customers away, he only charged $20 or so for this engagement, a modest fee which proved to be quite a lot of bang for the buck. And, finally, feeling that the venue of the cavernous, hangar-like, dark and dingy, 5th Regiment Armory with its high ceilings, poor acoustics, and drafts, may have, itself, contributed to less than satisfactory attendance, Bob instead rented the elegant, chandeliered, spacious but cozy, Patapsco Arena for this latter event. Yes, Bob, with his sundry improvements, seemed to have all the bases covered for making a winner of his Baltimore All Star Soul Classic Concert. Yet, after all these well thought out alterations and corrections to upgrade his erstwhile concert, he still came up short.
Upon our arrival, there were already rumors that Gene Chandler would not be going on. There was to be as well a special matinee show reserved for senior citizens (another well intentioned innovation by Bob) and although he was scheduled for this afternoon segment, Chandler did not appear. This, of course, was a major disappointment. And there were to be several more as the evening unfolded but I decided to stick around. And I’m glad I did, because the pleasant surprises of that night far outweighed any negatives.
Undeterred by this major setback, Bob welcomed the guests at the door as if nothing had gone awry and then kindly directed them to their assigned tables and seats. As the listeners were filing in, they were regaled by the most competent house band, the Philly Soul Sounds, led by Capt. Fly, whose play list of soul classics was both exhaustive and encyclopedic. This swinging ensemble soon put the crowd in a festive, dancing mood.
Next on the agenda was Tommy Vann. For those with short memories, Tommy Vann and his group, the Echoes, was probably the most renowned of the many storied blue-eyed soul bands which emerged in the mid-Atlantic during the 60s, including Bob Brady & the Con Chords, the Admirals, and the Flavor. Hailing from upstate New York, Vann, after a stint in the Marines, first recorded professionally in 1962 on the Bayfront label with a New Jersey group, the Emblems. While on tour with that outfit, he met his future wife and moved to Baltimore in that same year. He first recorded locally on the Hollywood label, affiliated with his longtime stint at the club, Hollywood Park, at 23 Eastern Avenue in Essex and then scored regionally with his version of “Too Young” on the Academy (#118) logo.
His follow-up, “Pretty Flamingo” (#120), actually outsold the original by Manfred Mann. In fact, Vann was such a hot act during that era that he was eventually signed by Capitol records in 1968 and Congress the following year. By the way, Tommy Vann has kept every ticket stub, poster, promo photo, business card, and record from his long life in the entertainment business and proudly displayed these artifacts (arranged in chronologic order) in a bulging scrapbook which he carried along with him that evening.
Nonetheless, I have to say that I was still disappointed by his performance in that he did not avail himself of a supporting cast, but relied on a karaoke machine, evidently the same with which he makes a living (he can be seen on Tuesday nights at Tully’s restaurant at 7934 Belair Rd in Fullerton). Although his voice was in great form, there was something that didn’t quite ring true with the canned music, especially in contrast to what preceded and followed it. And the crowd of 2000 or so who attended seem to sense it as well, since each number of his only elicited a smattering of applause.
But the same specta-tors did not have any problem getting out of their seats for the subsequent group - the Jewels.
These three women, Sandra (Peoples) Bears, Marjorie Clarke, and Grace Ruffin, who now must be in their sixties, had been classmates with original member, Carrie Mingo, at Roosevelt High in Washington, D.C., in the early 60s.
Nonetheless, these “senior citizens” could still shake the proverbial tail feather, as they executed to perfection their choreographed routines. I have to admit that their energy level onstage would put a lot of youngsters to shame. And, to say the least, their enthusiasm was infectious.
They first recorded (in the basement of then D.C. denizen Bo Diddley no less) for Chess subsidiary, Checker, as the Impalas in 1961, after which they made three disks for producer Bob E. Lee’s Start label in the Nation’s Capital as the Four Jewels. During this same time frame they were used to back up both Billy Stewart (a D.C. native) on the Chess label and another Start label mate, Jimmy “D,” as the “D”-Lites. Checker in 1963 picked up one of these releases, “Loaded With Goodies” (#1039), which proved a moderate hit, and later recorded “Time For Love” (# 1069), which hardly made an impact, as did a remake of the Spaniels’ “Baby It’s You” on the T.E.C. logo. However, their next attempt, recorded at Dimension records in New York, “Opportunity” (# 1034), and produced by Gene Redd charted nationally. And their second, “Smokey Joe” (written by Ashford and Simpson) bw “But I Do” (# 1048) (written by Bobby Charles), was also a strong seller in that golden age of girl groups—the Supremes, Chiffons, Ronettes, Royalettes, Marvelettes, Shangri-Las, Crystals, etc. The public acceptance of these latter platters prompted a tour on the “chitlin’ circuit” which included an obligatory stop at the famed Apollo on 125th St in Harlem where they were approached by James Brown, who at the time was seeking a tight group of back up singers. After going on the road for a year with Brown and with his urging, they recorded “This Is My Story” on Federal (#12541), a label run by Ralph Bass which had jump started Brown’s long career. Their last single was as the reconfigured Brownettes on King in 1968, James Brown’s longtime trademark and parent of Federal records.
Since that time they’ve managed to stick together and are currently celebrating 46 years in the entertainment game. Their bread and butter engagements recently have been on cruise ships. “It’s the best way to mix business with pleasure,” answered Marjorie Clarke. And, if anything, these women know how to have a good time.
And continuing in this feel good groove was the next outfit to the bandstand, the Winstons, now led by vocalist Joe Phillips, who was not a charter member, but was associated with them just before they disbanded in the very early 70s. He resurrected the name again (without any of the erstwhile participants) about a dozen years ago and since has performed at a slew of D.C. area venues, including Lamont’s Entertainment Complex in Indian Head, MD.
The original group, the Winstons, was formed and fronted in the mid-60s by tenor Richard L. Spencer, who now is a high school teacher and published author (The Molasses Tree: A Southern Love Story) residing in Wadesboro, NC.
This band worked its way up to prominence by playing back up to a succession of soul stars, both local and national, including Leroy Taylor & Four Kays (of D.C.’s Shrine records), Otis Redding, and Curtis Mayfield and the Impressions, with whom they cut their first record on Mayfield’s Curtom logo in 1968, the rollicking “Need A Replacement” (#8546). In 1969 came the Winstons’ smash “Color Him Father” (Metromedia #117), a sensation (with Viet Nam War implications) which reached #4 on the Billboard Hot 100. Although the Winstons went on to release no less than three more 45s for the Metromedia, they could not manage to duplicate the phenomenon that was “Father” and Spencer, after the disk had run its course, soon saw the handwriting on the wall.
Nonetheless, there is an interesting footnote to the brief history of the Winstons in that the flip of this blockbuster is “Amen, Brother,” which contains a drum break by the late G.C. Coleman, a syncopated riff credited (along with James Brown’s “Funky Drummer,” King # 6290) as providing the rhythmical underpinnings for modern hip hop music. These two instrumental passages continue to be among the most sampled passages on the internet by prospective rap artists.
J.B. Brown, the emcee, known in the 60s as the “The High Priest of Soul,” when black radio stations such as WWIN, WSID, and WEBB were the de rigueur destinations on the AM dial for even a good portion of the white audience and when colorful DJs like him ruled the airwaves - Kelson “Chop Chop” Fisher, “Hot Rod” Hulbert, Sir Johnny O, “Fat Daddy” Johnson - introduced the next act, who really needed none. The throng immediately recognized him and gave him a standing ovation. It was Winfield Parker, another living legend, whose records, now like those of Kenny Hamber, are prized collector’s items. It was Parker who was to provide one of the biggest surprises of the evening and it was well worth waiting for.
During the 2003 show, Winfield Parker, who had found religion and even become a minister (First Macedonia Baptist Church of Ellicott City, MD), chose to sing only material of the spiritual variety. To be honest, though it was performed in all earnestness with the requisite, accompanying shouting and clapping, it was kind of bland in the melodic sense, definitely more style than substance. These gospel tunes then may have inspired Winfield but they hardly had the same effect on the audience, who only politely showed their appreciation, probably out of respect. But tonight was truly different. I realized I was witnessing a totally new departure. It marked a historic “coming out” because Winfield without fanfare and to the delight of the listeners proceeded to sing all of his former hits. What a revelation. And, I might add, he had the spectators in the palm of his hand. For the first time, I could observe his personal magnetism and how he had earned his legendary status as a soul stylist.
Winfield Parker was born in 1942 in Howard County and learned to play the saxophone at Harriet Tubman, the county’s segregated high school in Clarksville. As a teen, he joined up with D.C. based Sammy Fitzhugh and the Moroccans, who would go on to record with Popular and Atco. After forming his own band, the Imperial Thrillers, he came to the attention of Rufus Mitchell, a booking agent for Carr’s Beach (another mandatory summer sojourn for R&B ensembles on the chitlin’ circuit) in Annapolis and operator of Ru-Jac records out of his own home at 427 Laurens St in west Baltimore. It was Mitchell who would go on to record area soul stars such as Jimmy Dotson, Arthur “Sweet Soul Music” Conley, and Tiny Tim Harris, and also the one who would give Parker his first shot in the studio as Little Winfield Parker in 1965, “My Love For You” (#45006). Parker would go on to record many singles for Ru-Jac, including the local wonder, “She’s So Pretty” (0022). Several of Parker’s Ru-Jac disks were produced by the late Bill Boskent who ran Bee Bee records in Washington. Parker had gone on tour with one of Boskent’s artists, the recently late Little Sonny Warner. Warner had teamed up with Big Jay McNeely in 1959 to author “There Is Something On Your Mind” (Swingin’ #614). By 1967, Parker, through the intercession of Mitchell, had signed with the major independent, Atco. And by 1969, like another regional soul crooner, Kenny Hamber, he inked a contract with Jimmy Bishop of Arctic records of Philadelphia. Managing to stay active throughout the disco era of the 70s, he tried his hand at a whole host of labels including New York’s Wand, Spring, and GSF. According to Joe Vaccarino, an archivist of local labels, Parker joined up with several Baltimore natives and formed the group, Both Worlds, about mid-decade. Both Worlds recorded an LP for Calla records, I Want The World To Know, from which a single was released. After a hiatus in recording in the early 80s, he inaugurated the gospel group, Praise, in 1985.
Actually, there was more good news regarding Parker. Not only was he including his old material in his repertoire now (perhaps ascribing to the precedent set by Al Greene) but also he told me that he had become the official caretaker of Ru-Jac records, having somehow acquired the master tapes after the death of Rufus Mitchell. “I’ll be reissuing some of the better numbers on CD very soon,” he added.
After these most pleasant surprises of Parker’s came more unexpected rewards for remaining at the show. First, in the audience was none other than Little Royal, not only a James Brown look alike but also someone who could give James Brown a run for his money in the dance department. I swear that on some occasions he could actually out hoof the Godfather of Soul. In fact, Little Royal was invited to perform in concert at my alma mater, Towson State, in 1966 and his gyrations, frenetic footwork, and provocative posturing so outraged our dear clueless dean that she and her stuffy entourage left in a huff after the first number. Later, she issued a memorandum that such “inappropriate acts” be screened or auditioned by a review committee. When I confronted him, Little Royal remembered the incident vividly. “I guess you weren’t quite ready for me yet,” he laughed. Royal, who recorded for Black Pride, Carnival, and TRI-US in the 60s and 70s, revealed just a little hint of his dance schtick as he was called to the stage by J.B. Brown. But this little signature gesture brought down the house.
Secondly, to everyone’s enjoyment, Bobby Starr of the Intruders popped up right after and launched into a rousing rendition of their “Cowboys To Girls” which evolved into a spirited sing a long as he directed the mike toward the onlookers. When I talked to Bobby during one intermission, he told me that he had mysteriously lost his voice recently. But he most certainly showed no ill effects on this occasion.
Up to this point, everything seemed to running smoothly and each act followed the other in a seamless transition. But then I spotted headliner Kenny Hamber mingling with the customers, but in his street clothes. Somewhere along the line, he had changed from his elaborate, flashy, made for the occasion, concert outfit. This was not a good sign, I thought to myself. Neither was the fact that I was barred from the dressing room where last minute negotiations (or maybe heated “discussions”) were taking place. And, moreover, since there was a definite lull in the entertainment, the crowd was getting restless.
But Tommy Hunt, splendidly attired in a white tuxedo, appeared seemingly out of nowhere and was ready to take center stage. When I had seen him earlier to autograph my records, he seemed rather frail and fragile, even a bit unsteady. And his brushed leather jacket seemed to hang off him, as if he were a scarecrow. After all, he was nearly 74. But he was still rather handsome, with fine, delicate features.
And was he ever gracious, a true gentleman of the old school who would do anything for his adoring public, even patiently answer all the annoying questions directed at him about his long career.
Born in Pittsburgh in 1933, Tommy Hunt endured the typical hard scrabble, hard knock life of a Depression child which included brushes with the law and stretches in reform school. But music was always his salvation. After having relocated to Chicago in the early 50s, he formed with Johnny Taylor and Earl Lewis the vocal group, the Five Echoes, who recorded for Sabre and Vee-Jay in the Windy City.
Onstage, the transformation of Tommy Hunt was remarkable. Whereas on the floor, he was meek, humble, and rather withdrawn; under the spotlight, he was beaming, brimming with confidence. He actually seemed to draw strength and vitality from the audience as his set wore on. And his pipes, undiminished by age, were magnificent. An old pro, he could project his voice easily to the far reaches of the arena. He told the captivated crowd that he was grateful for the opportunity to entertain them after so long an absence and they, in turn, reciprocated his affection for them. I don’t know if Tommy was paid all that was due to him but he wasn’t about to let down his fans. Not this night, not after he had traveled so far. If need be, it would be a labor of love, which it really was anyway. As far as I was concerned, no matter what would transpire thereafter, Tommy single-handedly saved the show.
But suddenly, the house lights came on and the party was over. I came to the conclusion that, amazingly enough, few of the people even realized that two of the marquee artists did not perform as scheduled. I certainly did not feel cheated and seemingly most of the people who stayed until 1 a.m. shared my sentiments. A truly good time was had by all.
I talked to Bob Fountain a few days later and I didn’t ask him if there were any repercussions about the no-show artists. But he was already tossing about ideas in his head in order to avoid another such debacle. “You know, I tried to do it like the old days at the Royal [Theatre] and have a lot of variety but I just had too much on my plate. The same amount of people would have probably showed up for half the number of acts,” he said. And, of course he’s right. I told him that each show that he promotes wouldn’t necessarily have to be a black version of Woodstock and he wholeheartedly agreed with me on that point.
Still I admired him for taking all the risks and also managing somehow to more than salvage a night which could have been a disaster. He’s far from ready to throw in the towel on this ongoing project and sooner or later, you can bet on it, I’ll be reporting on yet a third All Star Soul Reunion Concert. And, I promise, like the others it will be well worth waiting for.
Larry Benicewicz, Baltimore Blues Society and BAS
Made with Macintosh
