SIR JOE & THE MAIDENS, "JIVIN JEAN" C/W "PEN PAL." LENOX NX-5563 (REL. 5/1963)

Joe Quarterman's future as a funk/soul icon was unthinkable in the spring of 1963. Black music had yet to gain a significant foothold with the white mainstream audience. They were fine with a Nat "King" Cole or a Brook Benton--smooth-voiced balladeers who, at their most fervent, dialed down the heat to an acceptable degree.

Rhythm and blues records got into the pop charts and would, on occasion, rise to its heights; younger listeners liked it and saw through the "color line" that still held sway in everyday life. A study of the Cash Box and Billboard Top 100 charts of 1963 reveals an impressive variety of popular music. Country, instrumentals, international performers, folk, r&b, rock, pop and the odd novelty share space in an anything-goes atmosphere. Popular music struggled as it outgrew the styles of the 1950s, which persisted and gained new interest when the British beat groups returned this music to the airwaves via their enthusiastic cover versions.

Despite the existence of r&b and country charts, mainstream pop embraced them all. Its only requirement was that a song have some intrinsic appeal. Where it came from, or who performed it, didn't matter. Record companies had to temper the artwork on albums and 45-rpm picture sleeves; the image of a smiling, confident person of color might still alienate racists (who comprised a large part of American, then as now). Those people might still enjoy the song sung by a Black person, but they didn't want to see the performer. This was the heart-breaking deal Black musicians had to embrace: they were heard, not seen.

Berry Gordy did a great deal to break this barrier as his Motown artists rose to pop supremacy in 1964 and '65. The Supremes played well on mainstream TV, and their graceful, chic images helped Black performers become acceptable to white America. By decade's end, this barrier was pushed away--for good, it seemed. There remained much yet to do to isolate and decry systemic racism; it never went away and we see the repercussions in the ugly, brutal actions of the current "administration" (and I use the term loosely, with a note of contempt).

In 1963, a young performer like Joe Quarterman, who gained the title "Sir" in high school, had a fair chance of success in popular music. He appears to be from the Baltimore, Maryland/Washington DC area (a hotbed of earthy Black music), as he was produced by Vernon Sandusky, a musician connected to Black artist Big Al Downing and his associate Bobby Poe. Downing's hybrid of country, rock and blues predicted the synthesis of the 1970s; he, too, recorded for the Lenox label.

Today's record is the first of three Quarterman made with The Maidens, whose identities remain unknown. "Jivin' Jean" is a delightful hotbed of musical style. It starts as a stark confession, with Joe's voice against piano chords. Then a big sound explodes, with aggressive, crisp drumming, quacking horns, a solid bass line and the distant sound of The Maidens, who provide Greek chorus support for Joe's confession of frustrations towards the title lass, whose actions bewilder him and bewitch him all at once. 

"Pen Pal," Quarterman's composition, is a ballad with doo-wop overtones. A chunky, down-to-earth sound gives this an oomph that it needs. Sir Joe again bares his soul as he relates his postal relationship to a girl he's fallen for. There's a lot goin' on here sound-wise; The Maidens have a larger role, and orchestral bells distract the ear from Joe's vocal, alongside a tremolo guitar line. All these musical frills hit the ears at once; it takes a few listens to hear what Joe sings. His expressiveness speaks volumes.

Such a recording would have been easy to ruin, and I'm glad it was recorded with soul and passion in mind rather than a half-hearted attempt to woo an imagined pop demographic.

Quarterman made a powerful 1967 single for the cult label Rujac Records; after a hiatus, he got a breakthrough hit with the two-part "(I Got) So Much Trouble In My Mind" in 1972 with his group Free Soul. He recorded with this group into 1975; his final single has a disco remix coupled with a "regular" funk version of the same song.

He became a cult figure in the UK soul scene. He's still with us, and seems to still be performing. This is where it all started for him.

Tomorrow: When Don Gibson achieved a double-sided chart-topper with "I Can't Stop Loving You" and "Oh, Lonesome Me," his earlier labels raided their catalogs for material to catch some coin. M-G-M released a raw, eccentric rockabilly mover made in 1956; it failed and is now a collector's item. etc. A great bopper coupled with a country ballad penned by Melvin Endsley.