Tammi Terrell, "I Can't Believe You Love Me" c/w "Hold Me Oh My Darling," Motown M 1086 (rel.11/1965)

Tammi Terrell is one of the most tragic figures in the Motown story. Dead at 24, she had enormous promise and the recordings she left behind are exquisite. Born in Philadelphia in 1945, Thomasina Montgomery was nicknamed Tammy in her early teens and preferred that handle. Tragedy wove the fabric of her life; her mother suffered from mental problems and, at age 11, Terrell was the victim of a multiple sexual assault. After the attack, she began to suffer from migraine headaches—a dark omen of things to come in her health.

Singing was her joy, and she made her first record at 16 for Florence Greenberg’s Scepter Records. Under Luther Dixon’s tutelage, she had two release (the second on companion label. Wand). We’ve played “Voice of Experience,” the Wand single, here and on the podcast. At this time, she recorded demos for The Shirelles to use and soon got into the orbit of James Brown. She was a backup singer for his live shows. 

This led to an abusive relationship; in one known episode, Brown physically assaulted her for not watching all of one of his live shows. A Famous Flame witnessed this brutal beating; his description is too painful to quote her. Terrell fled this serial assaulter in 1963.

At this time, she joined the Philadelphia girl group The Sherrys but didn’t stay long; I don’t believe she is on any of their recordings. She made a solo single for Chicago’s Checker label, produced by Bert Berns. When that single failed to chart, Tammi got out of music for a spell. She studied pre-med at a hometown university. Local legend Jerry Butler coaxed her out of this self-imposed retirement to perform some live shows. She continued her education as they toured.t to perform some live shows. She continued her education as they toured.

One fateful night in 1965, Berry Gordy caught their act at a Detroit nightclub. He was taken by her voice and beauty and asked her to become a Motown artiste. On her 20^th birthday (April 29, 1965), she signed a contract, and that’s where today’s single comes in. She was teamed with songwriter-producer-performer-soul visionary Harvey Fuqua and Johnny Bristol; the two worked together on other Detroit labels and were a part of Motown, but, at this point, had little to show for their time there. This single was a stepping stone for their collaboration as well. It proved a spectacular label debut, though it wasn’t a big hit.

“I Can’t Believe You Love Me” features Harvey Fuqua on uncredited backup vocals. Terrell’s performance is of such quality that the listener gets lost in her voice; it may take several spins to determine what the song is about. Its ambitious, multi-themed approach furthers this sense of never getting a grip on what is being sung. It finally got through that the song’s title phrase is sung to an indifferent and often unavailable lover whose laissez-faire attitude has led the narrator to question his love. It’s a clever turn on the misleading bent of the phrase. Those words are delivered not with starry-eyed wonder; they’re spoken in anguish and uncertainty.

This is an epic recording, with every element just so: those strings, which drive home the singer’s emotional frenzy; Fuqua’s gruff but effective harmony vocal; frequent tempo and time-signature shifts. This was ambitious on a level that the label’s main songwriting team of Holland-Dozier-Holland seldom (if ever) attempted. There’s a lot to take in here; small wonder it didn’t soar up the pop charts. It went Top 30 in the r&b listings but stopped at #72 on the Hot 100. It served as notice of a major new talent—one which the listener could expect to hear great things from in the future.

Cash Box missed this one, but Billboard delivered a positive review in their terser-than-terse style:

Both sides of this single were later revamped as fake duets with Marvin Gaye, whose real-life collabs with Terrell proved her biggest successes as a Motown artist. To those familiar with the Gaye-Terrell version of “Hold Me Oh My Darling,” this ’65 original might seem strange. Harvey Fuqua and Johnny Bristol’s voices are more prominent on this side, alongside a moody ‘whisper’ organ and yet another irresistible groove laid down by the Motown house band.

This more straightforward approach might have resulted in a pop radio-friendly hit; I applaud Motown for choosing the more musically complex side, but the crass promoter guy inside my head insists this would’ve been a hit. Its loose and seductive rhythm has you just as Tammi’s voice enters and further beckons the listener. Her phrasing and timing are spot-on and her melisma profound. That “won’t you be my guiding light” chant is a great hook. This side harks back to what Motown was before the Holland-Dozier-Holland coup in 1964; an experimental label that placed the feeling of a song above all else. Fuqua was one of Black music’s great feeling writers; so many of his great pieces evoke a powerful mood that’s more than heartbreak or falling in love. This complexity was removed from the Motown equation; later controversial hits like “Love Child” and “Papa Was a Rolling Stone” state their case in primary colors. Fuqua’s music is all mauves, umbers and moss greens. His music is compelling and challenging; Holland-Dozier-Holland’s is easy-intake musical fast food. Tasty but it all rather blurs together; nothing stands out, as is the constant case with Fuqua’s work.

Terrell had a tragic last act of her life. Her duets with Marvin Gaye were big pop and soul hits—one dozen charters from 1965 to 1970. In 1966, she began an intense affair with David Ruffin of The Temptations. He proposed to her, and she accepted. Then she learned that Ruffin was already married with three kids. He also had another girlfriend on the side and a drug problem. They quarreled often, and those conflicts led to intense headaches.

Ruffin was also physically abusive to Terrell and hit her at least twice on her head with blunt instruments; this aggravated her brain tumor, which hadn’t yet been diagnosed. Once it was seen, she went through eight operations. In their wake, she was wheelchair-ridden, temporarily blind and physically wasted. After her final operation, Terrell went into a coma from which she never emerged. She died in March 1970 at 24.

Terrell’s family barred all Motown people from her funeral service except Marvin Gaye, who may have been the one kind man in her life. Gaye delivered a eulogy for his cherished musical partner. Terrell’s death had a deep effect on Gaye, and it’s said he never quite recovered from this emotional trauma. His What’s Going On LP can be interpreted as a reflection on Terrell’s passing and his despair.

David Ruffin was never charged or prosecuted for his physical abuse to Terrell.

Tammi Terrell’s solo recordings for Motown were collected by Hip-O Records in the 2010 CD Come on and See Me: The Complete Solo Collection. It’s well worth tracking down.

Tomorrow: country legend Lefty Frizzell goes rock ‘n’ roll for the only time on a 1958 Columbia single.