BOBBY MAC, "KEEP ON" C/W "WALKIN' TOGETHER," ORIGINAL SOUND 68 (REL. 2/1967)

I’ve had today’s record for a bit; listened a few times, liked it, deliberated—and then at last I had a blank space and a dire need for something worthy of the Jukebox. Not that there is any dearth of material. Some records push their way to the front of the line: they have a great story attached to them or I have an anecdote about how I acquired them under comical or tense circumstances.

None of that applies to this 1967 single by Bobby Mac—a stage name for Robert McGlothin, about whom next to nothing is known. He made three solo singles (the first in 1962) then worked with Mirwood Records as writer and producer, where he helmed a spendy Northern Soul single for The Performers. That appears to be it for him. No photos, no bio, no nothin’. Perhaps he was drafted and served in Vietnam; perhaps he went on the lam to avoid the draft. Anything might have happened to the guy, but he laid so low that he left as little trace of his existence as possible.

Today’s record was issued on two small LA labels in 1967. It has the sound of a regional recording. The full, processed sound of most LA records is absent on this platter. Moonglow Records put it out first; then Original Sound, Paul Buff’s eccentric boutique label (which retained the old postal code system long past the introduction of the Zip Code [as if to baffle future collectors]) picked it up for wider distribution. Its lone mentions in Cash Box pertain to distributors’ claims that it was among their current hot sellers. None of the trade magazines reviewed it until 1969, when, for reasons unknown (a theme today!) Original Sound reissued it. Record World assigned it four stars, though its rustic sound was a bit behind the times by then.

So: this record had legs and people appeared to like it. How, then, is its writer and performer so lost to history? An Inspector Maigret is required to do a deep dive into this mystery. Alas, I am not that man. On to the record.

“Keep On” has a bit of the amateur-night sound and is charming for that. With feisty brass, and all elements a bit over-recorded, this Motown-adjacent mover attempts to sound big with a tight budget. The atmosphere created is seductive, as McGrothlin’s vocal is often drowned out by the band; the latter creates a striking moment as two baritone saxes take a unison solo.

It’s a sweet, catchy song that is all the more human for its patchwork production. McGrothlin sings his heart out and it’s so urgent and loud that you wouldn’t guess it’s only the B-side.

 

“Walkin’ Together” has the quasi-Asian melodic air often heard in Black music of this period. It’s another rough-hewn production on a more light-hearted song that bridges the early ‘60s sound of Ben E. King and the later ‘60s vibe of Stax Records. This side has a more intimate feel than the B; it’s a surprise when a femme chorus appears late in the record—after it’s revealed its twist ending in this simple narrative.

This was the side that got what little push the record received. It must have done well in a few strong markets, to judge from the reports logged in Cash Box and Billboard, but it wasn’t broad enough to get into the pop mainstream. I’ve encountered one other copy of this single since I found mine; it’s hard to know how well it did or how many copies are still around.

McGrothlin made a final solo single for the mega-obscure B&O label—an apparent one-shot imprint—in 1968, but it is extremely rare; Discogs doesn’t list it and no one claims to own it on the 45cat.com website. And that’s all we have!

Tomorrow: six years earlier, Texas label Duke Records tries the pop-r&b angle with Ernie Harris; the results are endearing.