JOE TEX, "RIGHT BACK INTO MY ARMS" C/W "MY GREATEST MISTAKE," KING 45-4884 (REL. 3/1956)

Joe Tex: another Black performer whose later singles are everywhere. Ev-e-ry-where. You’ll come across his Dial Records sides just about anywhere you browse, unless you’re in North Dakota (though I’ll bet there are still some of his records there). His earliest records, made for King, that Ohio label which boasted such legends as James Brown, Hank Ballard, Little Willie John and The “5” Royales, are, like Little Esther’s early sides, nigh impossible to find in the wild. Tex wouldn’t get a hit until 1960—five years into his recording career.

Born Joseph Arlington in Rogers, Texas in 1935, the singer and songwriter migrated East after he won a talent show in Houston. In New York, the vocalist made a name for himself in the talent show of The Apollo Theater. He won the amateur division four weeks in a row. Producer-talent scout-songwriter Henry Glover caught him at this landmark theater and offered him a contract with King Records. No go, Tex’s mom decreed: you gotta finish high school first. Joe complied, and at 19, diploma in hand, he took Glover up on his offer.

Today, after a long postponement, we’ll hear his second single for King. It pairs an original ballad with a song penned by Otis Blackwell and Eddie Cooley. In this partnership, Blackwell used the name Davenport. The two wrote “Fever,” a major hit for Little Willie John and later, via added lyrics, a pop standard for Peggy Lee. Tex insisted he’d written “Fever,” admissible evidence be damned. (You know: song demos by the composers, Library of Congress registrations—those little things.)

Perhaps to show no hard feelings, Blackwell and Cooley gave him the winning up-tempo “Right Back to My Arms.” It’s a good example of how Blackwell’s songs with collaborators different from his solo work. On his own, Otis preferred breezier melodies and more direct words. Cooley’s lyrics hew to more familiar r&b territory to fine effect. Both approaches are equally fine!

This sounds like a New York studio recording; it’s just got that vibe. Tex relates this tuneful plea for love and acceptance with a conversational tone, accented with the occasional growl. The stop-start rhythm is appealing, and the band’s hot as a shopping center parking lot in August. The guitarist who takes two fine solos isn’t Mickey Baker or George Barnes. Everett Barksdale, mebbe? Sam “The Man” Taylor delivers a brief but potent sax solo. And the drummer (Panama Francis?) does a superb job with tasty fills that step outside the time-keeping drive he gives the rest of the band. What’s not to love?

>>> Hear it HERE! <<<

Cash Box agrees: this is a good one!

Tex goes bluesy on “My Biggest Mistake,” and his performance is stunning on an original song that reminds of Lowman Pauling’s songs for his group The “5” Royales. I’d almost swear that’s Pauling on guitar here, but he had yet to do those honors for the Royales’ own recordings. The song’s pensive sound is much like their contemporary records. Joe’s voice is in peak form, and he expresses so much emotion and heart here. The vocal chorus one almost expects to happen wasn’t in the building, thank heavens. His performance needs nothing but the band behind him. I can’t decide which side I like best. Can they both be 10s?

 >>> Hear it HERE! <<<

Tex moved to Mississippi label Ace Records in 1958, where he continued to make great records that didn’t succeed. His rivalry with James Brown started around this time. Both men accused each other of thunder theft; each claimed the other’s stage persona and moves were ripped off. This feud reached its crisis point when Brown re-wrote a Tex song, “Baby, You’re Right,” which Joe recorded for Detroit imprint Anna Records in 1961 and claimed it as his composition. Fussin’ and a-fightin’ resulted.

Once Tex began his long string of hits for Memphis label Dial with 1964’s “Hold What You’ve Got”—a song Joe didn’t think was worthy of release. Label head Buddy Killen convinced Tex it was a good record, and it helped make Dial Records a big name in vernacular music.

There’s so much more to Tex’s story. In 1966, he became a member of the Islamic faith and changed his name to Yussuf Hazziez. In the last years of his life, Tex/Hazziez, who’d avoided drugs and alcohol, was troubled with addiction issues. He was found at the bottom of a swimming pool in Texas in 1982. Four years earlier, he’d had his final hit record, “Loose Caboose.” He’ll be remembered for the Dial Records singles, but there’s a whole lot more to his long and storied career.

Tomorrow: The Teenagers, minus Frankie Lymon, on a hot 1957 platter for Gee Records. One side is another fine song by Charlie Singleton and Rose Marie McCoy. Then we’ll go back to the fabulous finds.