LINDA MARTELL & THE ANGELOS, "JUST LIKE TAKING CANDY FROM A BABY" C/W "LONELY HOURS," VEE-JAY 531 (REL. 6/1963)

 

Thelma Bynem found fame as a Black female country music artist in the 1970s. A decade earlier, in her stage name of Linda Martell, she cut a trio of singles in Muscle Shoals, Alabama that were issued, well-reviewed by the music press but commercial failures that amounted to a lot of good-faith hardship on her part—a debt unpaid.

Born in South Carolina in 1941, she grew up steeped in music. In a household where her father’s favorite song was Hank Williams’ classic “Your Cheatin’ Heart,” she sang in local church choirs and listened to everything around her, including rhythm and blues and early rock ‘n’ roll. While still in her teens, she formed The Anglos with her sister and another relative. They performed in public to good response. At a school function, local DJ Charles Greene saw The Anglos and thought they had potential. He offered Thelma the stage name of Martell, which she accepted. He helped to get The Anglos on record.

A trip to Muscle Shoals—recalled as a nine-hour trek by bus—yielded a 1962 single for Fire Records (which I, idiot, passed on at a recent record show). Unpromoted by the label, it died on the store racks.

A year later, with their name changed to The Angelos, Martell & Co. went to Nashville, where a single, produced by Ray Stevens, was leased to Vee-Jay Records in Chicago. At the time, Vee-Jay tapped into Nashville for soul and country material. The single pairs a delightful song penned by guitar guy Jerry Reed and an original by Ms. Martell. She has one of those voices: so powerful and convincing that it’s a shock her early records didn’t go places.

“Just Like Taking Candy from a Baby” is a classic girl-group delighter. It sounds like a country song until it gets to the chorus; a couple of deviant chord changes turn into pure pop. The Angelos, which had Linda’s brother in tow, deliver a feisty back-up to Martell’s sassy, personality-filled voice.

For all his novelty (and racist) schlock, Ray Stevens was a great record producer, with a golden ear for what sounded great on the radio. This side’s bright, appealing tones had every element of commercial success: that chorus, with its ear-worm strength; Linda’s appealing, resonant vocal; a light arrangement that spotlights her talent in a solid setting. Vee-Jay dropped the ball on any promotion. They seemed to regard all their Nashville imports as unworthy of success; perhaps they were a debt owed to one of label owner/serial conman Abner Ewart’s many gambling debts.

Long-time readers may remember a terrific one-off single by Marylin Britton—another Nashville performer—that was played here a few years back. It’s another “this sure sounds like a hit” record that was buried the moment it appeared. Some of the best records fell victim to contractual obligations. The Angelos’ potential pop smash was one of many in 1963.

Our Cash Box pals knew a potential hit when they heard it. Alas, no one responded.

“Lonely Hours,” penned by Linda, is a classic Johnny Ace-style blues ballad given a slight girl-group dusting by the backup vox of The Angelos. Its long, bluesy stanzas have a tinge of country from the Nashville cats who play behind the group. That could be Hank Garland and Floyd Cramer, heard on kajillions of country classics, among the studio band.

The performance is often more important than the song in r&b of this period. Martell’s powerful vocal lifts cookie-cutter songcraft to new heights in a compelling performance. Rolling Stone calls this side “simmering, forlorn girl-group pop.” I can’t better that description.

The Angelos made a final single for Vee-Jay’s Tollie imprint in 1964—a pair of cover versions that went nowhere. Martell took a long break from recording. In 1969, she re-emerged as a country artist, and hit with “Color Him Father,” a powerful song about a war veteran’s relationship to his children. It was first recorded by soul group The Winstons, but Martell made the song her own in a memorable performance.

The white country world wasn’t yet ready for a Black female star. Martell recalls being heckled by rednecks when she performed in public; the humiliation and hurt still resonate with her. She received standing ovations at The Grand Ole Opry and appeared on TV shows with a rustic theme (Hee Haw) where her face was broadcast in living color to countless American homes. Management conflicts and Martell’s despair at America’s pervasive racism cut short a promising career.

The full story of Martell’s life and career can be read here:

https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-features/linda-martell-black-country-grand-ole-opry-pioneer-1050432/

It’s worth your time to take in this sad, rich narrative of a talented artist’s life. Martell is still with us at 84. Her 1970 LP Color Me Country has become sought-after as an important piece of the narrative of Black music in America. It might get one of those 40-dollar vinyl reissues before long.

Tomorrow: primal teen rock ‘n’ roll from Rick Randle and The Rockers. This 1958 Arc Records single sounds like something from the early punk era—kinda-sorta.