Carrie Grant And The Grandeurs, "There'll Come A Time" c/w "Take All Of My Life," New Art 1003 (rel. 12/1962)

 

The joke about the stage name of today’s artist is lost to time. He came from Philadelphia and made two excellent singles which have managed to elude the all-seeing eye of soul DJs and influencers. His 1963 single “Mish-Mash” is an obvious dancefloor filler—energetic, witty and full of life—that remains an open secret amongst collectors.

My acquisition of that single, and the suggestion of a friend, spurred me to find Grant’s earlier disc—his debut single—and now I feel I’m onto something others might have overlooked. I wish I had some information about this performer, but he’s flown so far under the soul collectors’ radar that no one’s done much to explore his personal history. For now, all we have are his recordings, and they make a case for his worthiness in the soul/r&b canon.

“There’ll Come a Time,” co-written by Grant, is an urgent, powerful gospel-flavored mid-tempo mover with a chord progression also heard in Carl Perkins’ “Honey Don’t.” When this track was recorded, the sound of Chubby Checker was popular. Grant is miles away from that chart-friendly mainstream fodder. This has all the passion of a 1966 Stax Records single. Grant’s growling, silky lead vocal shouts “star” from his first exhalation. The female Grandeurs provide church-choir harmony support while a gospel piano pounds out stately runs for good measure.

There’s nothing but “wow” about this song and performance. It should’ve been the A side, but it wasn’t. Thus, I’ve forced the issue. This is a recording that deserves love and attention.

That's his name! Cash Box lets loose all their unique adjectives for this one.

“Take All of My Life,” penned by Bobby Martin (a founding father of the Philly Soul movement) and Morris Bailey, sounds like a solid attempt to get the sound of Chuck Jackson, who was a charting Black artist in 1962.

It’s no slouch as song or performance, but the B side wins my heart by dint of its originality and sincerity. This might have seemed the safer bet for the A side in late 1962, when it was released to crickets and tumbleweeds, but it feels too patterned after another artist’s work to these crotchety ears. Still—a great side and further proof that Mr. Grant ought be better known.

We’ll do a follow-up post soon with both sides of Carrie’s next (and last) single, and while we wish Grant was granted an album’s worth of recordings, he escaped one-record-wonder status, so somebody had faith in him.

Tomorrow: Movin’ Monday with the teenaged Collins Kids on a pair of scorching Nashville rockers via a 1957 Columbia platter.