Smokey Robinson
Gems/Redferns
Smokey Robinson is the reigning genius of Top-40. Since the Beatles and the Beach Boys
dropped out of the single-then-follow-up-album pattern aimed at the AM
teenage listener, William “Smokey” Robinson has had the field to
himself.
The lead singer of the Miracles, writer of almost all their material
and that of many Motown groups, a prolific producer, and a vice
president and charter member of the Motown Corporation, Smokey is what
DJ’s call with gushing enthusiasm, “an all around entertainer.” He is a
combination Sam Cooke, Paul McCartney,
Lieber and Stoller, and George Martin. But no one has done it all as
well and as long as Smokey, and none with quite his style and easy
grace.
Now 27, Smokey (known as “Smoke” to intimates) has been writing and
singing since he did a tune for a first grade skit in which he played
Uncle Remus. He wrote poetry as a kid too, but dropped it in junior high
when he started the Miracles as a street corner harmonizing group. He
and his group – Bobby Rogers, Ronnie White, Pete Moore, Claudette
Rogers, and Claudette’s brother who left not long after – were then 12
years old and they are still together.
Aretha Franklin
was a neighborhood friend too and they grew up hearing the blues and
gospel, but successful black music then was the multi-voiced sweet sound
of groups like the Penguins, the Platters, the Drifters, and Frankie
Lyman and the Teenagers. That’s the sound Smokey wanted. In 1957 the
Miracles got their first audition.
“We auditioned for this guy, but he didn’t like us,” Smokey said
recently, “with me and Claudette (she’s my wife now), he wanted us to be
like Mickey and Sylvia. But Berry Gordy, Jr., was there – he was doing
pretty good then writing songs for people like Jackie Wilson and Etta James
– and afterwards he called us over and asked to see our songs. We had a
book of about 100 I had written, and he liked only one, but he didn’t
just say the rest were garbage. I must of went through 68 of those songs
with this cat and on every one I’d say, ‘What’s wrong with this one?’
and he’d say, ‘Well, you left off this or you didn’t complete your idea
on that,’ which really started me to think about songs and what they
were. Gordy, man, that cat more than anyone else helped me get my thing
together.”
A debt is also owed the other way. Gordy signed with the Miracles as
their producer and with the money made from a series of solid hits like
“Get a Job” and “Bad Girl,” leased to big companies for distribution,
started Motown in 1959. The company’s first hit was a Smokey-Miracles
song, “Way Over There,” and it was “Shop Around,” a 1961 millionseller
that put the company on its feet financially.
Working together, Smokey and Gordy created the Motown Sound. In the
early days they collaborated on both writing and producing, and Smokey’s
executive job was “artist development.” But it was primitive Motown:
instead of having strings, big bands, and complex tracking, they were
lucky to have a sax or piano with the rhythm section. As the business
grew, Gordy stopped writing and Smokey either wrote the songs himself or
built lyrics and a full melody out of riffs suggested by the Miracles’
guitarist Marvin Tarplin or out of ideas sparked by members or the whole
group.
By now Smokey doesn’t know how many songs he’s written. Some never
made it, but there have been dozens of hits, each in its own way
perfect. There’s no formula, but all have a certain liquidity, a subtle
and simple elegance. Smokey makes it look easy. There is a strong beat, a
sure bass, and then a seductively harmonized melody whose turns are
exactly matched by the lyric’s mood.
Bob Dylan (press releases say) has said that Smokey is “today’s greatest living American poet.” It may be. Take “I Second That Emotion”:
Maybe you wanna give me kisses sweet,
But only for one night and no repeat.
And maybe you’ll go away and never call.
But a taste of honey is worse none at all., (Oh little girl)
In that case I don’t want no part (I do believe)
That that would only break my heart
But if you feel like loving me, if you’ve got the notion,
I second that emotion.
John Lennon thought enough of the “I’m Crying” refrain in the sweet
“Ooh, Baby,” to cop it for “I Am the Walrus.” Smokey can be baroque in
playing with words and their repetition (“Beggars can’t be choosey, I
know that’s what people say/But though my heart is begging for love,
I’ve thrown some love away/I’m a choosey beggar, and you’re my choice”)
or he can get right down home and basic as in “You’re My Remedy” that he
did for the Marvelettes:
Don’t call a doctor
A nurse is worse
Cause a pill won’t heal my pain
When I’m feeling blue
You know what to do
To make me feel right again.
Sometimes I get to tremblin’ and a shakin’
Like a leaf shakin’ on a tree
The doctor wants to s’pect
I’ll be a nervous wreck
But you’re my remedy.
While his new songs have a smooth sophistication (as “If you can
want, you can need; if you can need, you can care; if can care, you can
love; whenever you want me, I’ll be there”) his early songs were right
in the fifties’ – early sixties’ teen groove. “Shop Around” defines the
form:
When I became of age my mother called me to her side
She said, ‘Son you’re growing up now, pretty soon you’ll take a bride,’
And then she said, ‘just because you’ve become a young man now
Still some things that you don’t understand now,
Before you let her hold your hand now
Keep your reason for as long as you can now,’
My mamma told me, ‘You better shop around.’
“Tracks of My Tears,” perhaps his best song, starts with a simple
guitar riff, picked up by the bass and accented first by the drum and
then a few lovely “too doo oh’s” by the group, and then Smokey sings
alone “People say I’m the life of the party/Cause I tell a joke or
two/Although I might be laughin’ even though downhearted/Deep inside I’m
blue,” and then with everything building, out comes the chorus, “Take a
good” (drum smash) “look at my face oh-oh-oh/You’ll see my smile”
(another smash) “looks out of place/If you look closer it’s easy to
trace/The tracks of my tears.” By the end Smokey’s voice is riding high
over an incredible sweep of music, throwing in “ooh’s” and “yeah’s”
until there’s nothing more to say.
“That song,” said Smokey, “started with a riff Marvin Gaye
came up with. We worked it over for two months trying to get it in the
pocket. When we did, we took it into the studio and did it, doing three
other tunes that session too.”
Smokey does four tunes an afternoon because he is a Top-40 hitmaker, a
professional. He is Mr. Motown; small, agile, and very lightskinned,
his physical presence is the opposite of the late Otis Redding‘s.
In his dressing room after a show at a plush, white middle class club
in San Francisco, he whipped off the orange handkerchief he had put over
his closely razored process when he noticed pictures were being taken;
the do-rag, apparently, is not the Motown image.
Interviewed, he was like a bright salesman for a progressive company.
Yet his politeness, good nature, and respect for all performers, while
the cliched public attributes of a showman, seemed also the virtues of a
man beyond vanity. He and his group, he said, “just dig music, jazz,
pop, rock and roll, folk, blues, or whatever.”
On Bob Dylan:
“Here’s a cat who’s really trying to express what he sees the world as
being. He’s writing the real of what he sees, not trying to cover it up
or paint it up.” Some Beatle lyrics escape him, like “I am the Walrus,”
“but on that one, the feel of it and the things they had going made it a
great record, man. I think Lennon and McCartney are two of the greatest songwriters ever.”
With Smokey, Stax-Volt is also “great” and he’s very happy that his
old friend Aretha is doing well with material that suits her (“She’s
Aretha all the way down now”). He also thinks that all the cover
versions of his songs are “great.”
Up at the top of his great list (also on it are Henry Mancini,
Bacharach and David, Otis Redding, baseball, basketball, swimming, and
Motown – “one big happy, spiritual family, man”) are the Miracles.
“We’ve stayed together because we legitimately love each other. Some
groups, everything becomes more important to the group than the members.
You see groups of cats, and they’re falling out about a different girl
or this and that. It’s a drag.
“Staying together has a lot to do with the way you treat people and
the simple aspect of being lucky that people dig you for that long –
because people don’t have to dig you. This is one thing that recording
artists get off into where after they’ve had a few hit records they
think it’s them. They think, ‘well, if I was the milkman, when I was
coming down the street all the girls would come out of the house and say
“oh, he’s coming with the milk,” and tear their clothes off.’
“That’s not true, man, it just comes along with the business. When
you can no longer accept the fact that you’re a human being and singing
is just your job and along with the glamour part of entertainment comes
the screams and the yells, then you’re in trouble. But we want everybody
to know we thank them because they’ve been so wonderful down through
the years.”
If he talks like Mr. Nice Guy, there is nothing effete about Smokey.
On stage he leads his group with a sure hand, and starting with jokes,
then moving from call and response (“Everybody in the audience who wants
love to come to ’em tonight, say ‘yeah,’ like this, ‘yeeaaahh’!
Everybody!”), to some leaping with “Mickey’s Monkey” and finally to
romance with “Ooh, Baby,” he wrings everything out of his crowds, now
mostly at colleges or nightclubs. If his music isn’t strictly speaking a
very funky soul music, it has all of Smokey’s soul in it. Done within
the limits of Top-40 hit machine, and even within those of the more
precise Motown machine, his music transcends them.
“My theory of writing is to write a song that has a complete idea and
tells a story in the time allotted for a record. It has to be something
that really means something, not just a bunch of words on music.
“A lot of the things you hear by us, we had to splice down for radio
time. Like ‘Second that Emotion.’ It was 3:15 when it was done and Berry
– who has an ingenious sense of knowing hit records, it’s uncanny – he
heard it, he told us, ‘It’s a great tune, but it’s too long, so I want
you to cut that other verse down and come right out of the solo and go
back into the chorus and on out.’ So we did and the record was a smash.
He’s done that on quite a few records and he’s usually right, man.
“I’ve just geared mysef to radio time. The shorter a record is
nowadays, the more it’s gonna be played. This is a key thing in radio
time, you dig? If you have a record that’s 2:15 long it’s definitely
gonna get more play than one that’s 3:15, at first, which is very
important,” he said, sounding – incongruously for he was lying casually
on a motel bed in his bathrobe – like the junior exec, again.
“But it’s no hang up because I’m going to work in it and say whatever
I’m going to say in this time limit. It would be a hang up if I wrote
five minutes of a song and then had to cut it up. But cutting 30 seconds
or a minute doesn’t make that much difference.”
He was not aware that for many people in rock and roll, the Top-40
has become an irrelevant concern. “I think that anybody who records
somebody approaches it with the thought in mind that these people can be
a smash. I don’t think anybody thinks, ‘Oh, they’ll never be a Top-40
act, but here, let’s record them and not be in the Top-40.’ Everybody
who approaches this, approaches it with the idea of being in the Top Ten
because it’s the only way to stay in business, and let’s face it, this
is the record industry, one of the biggest industries going nowadays.
“So we’re just going to try to stay abreast of what’s on the market.
This what hangs a lot of jazz musicians up. I’ve seen cats in little
clubs who are jazz musicians through and through. They would not play a
note of rock and roll ever. Nothing. And they’re starving to death.
“Now this gets to the point of ridiculousness to me. I don’t think
that they love jazz anymore than I love what I’m doing, but it just so
happens that right now what I’m doing is more in demand than jazz. But
you can believe if it came to a point whereas jazz was what was
happening and nobody was buying this type of music and I was starving to
death, I’m sure I’d write some jazz songs.
“The market, man, the market is people.
It is the kids who are buying the records. This is the people you’re
trying to reach. I think that satisfying people on the whole if you’re
in business is more important than self-satisfaction.”
He thought for a minute if he has a side of himself that demands
satisfaction free from industry and market limits. “Well,” he said,
“thinking hard and talking slowly, “I could go into the studio and
record a tune that’s thirty minutes long if I want to satisfy my
personal thing. I could record a tune that’s longer than a LP, just
record it, have a disc made, take it home, sit back, and dig it. But,
you know, I don’t think I would. If somebody did, man, great. But I
don’t think I’d do something like that.”
This story is from the September 28th, 1968 issue of Rolling Stone.
Songwriters on Songwriting:
SMOKEY ROBINSON INTERVIEW #1
[This transcript is excerpted from an Art of the Song interview as broadcast nationally on Public Radio. Click here to listen to the complete show with music.]
Viv: It’s our great honor and
privilege and just thrilled to be talking with Smokey Robinson today for
Art of the Song. Smokey, thank you so much for joining us.
Smokey: Thank you Vivian, it’s a pleasure. You too John.
Viv: Smokey, would you tell us how you
got started? We’ve all heard stories, but we’d love to hear them from
you. How did you get started in music?
Smokey: If you’re going to go back to
when I really got started, it was probably from the first time I knew I
could hear as a baby because I can’t remember anything else that would
have been my priority as to what I wanted to do with my life since I was
exposed to music. There was music in my home. I had two older
sisters, in between them and my mom we had music all day long of every
day of all kinds that you could think of: the blues, gospel, jazz,
classical, all of that was there. So that was probably when I got
started with my idea of wanting to be in music. Now, professionally, I
got started quite by chance.
I was in the right place at the right time
because Berry Gordy, who is the founder of Motown, and who is my best
friend, was writing a lot of hit songs for Jackie Wilson, who was my #1
singing idol as a kid growing up. I had all of Jackie Wilson’s records.
Whenever I buy records, even today, I look to see who wrote the songs. I
always want to know that. Berry Gordy had written all the hit songs for
Jackie Wilson up to that point. The group that I was with, we were
called The Matadors at the time, we went to audition for Jackie Wilson’s
managers and Berry just happened to be there that day. Now, he didn’t
have to be there that day but he was. We didn’t have to go the day that
he was going to be there, because he was turning in some new songs to
Jackie, but we were. Like I said, I was in the right place at the right
time. It was a God plan.
Viv: It’s funny how those intersections get, I think, divinely guided.
Smokey: Absolutely. So we sang a few
songs that I had written which impressed Berry. It didn’t impress Jackie
Wilson’s managers because they didn’t like us at all. Anyway, Berry
stopped me afterwards and asked me where’d I get the songs. I told him I
wrote them. We struck up a conversation and we became really good
friends. About a year or so, year and a half after that, he started
Motown.
Viv: And brought you on board.
Smokey: Yes.
Viv: Do you think that writing your own material so early on gave you a leg up or was it a disadvantage?
Smokey: No, I think it was a leg up. Berry actually started to give me songwriting help when I met him because, like I said, I had at least a hundred songs in a
loose leaf notebook from my school years that I had been writing songs,
and probably three of them made sense all the way through. I usually
had four or five songs in one song because they weren’t talking about
the same thing throughout the song. But he started to mentor me and make
me know that a song is a short book or a short movie or a short story
that has a beginning and a middle and an ending that tie in together.
When I met him he started to teach me and I started to learn how to
write songs professionally at that point.
John: What was it like songwriting back in the ’60’s? What were your inspirations and did you write by yourself or did you co-write with other people?
Smokey: Well, John, I co-wrote with other
people but I write by myself also. And my inspiration back in the ’60’s
was the same thing that it is in 2014. It hasn’t changed for me. My
inspiration is life. And I write about life. And I’m not a moody
songwriter where I’ve got to be sad and I can write some sad songs. Or
today I’m going to be happy and going to write some happy songs. I can
write a happy song when I’m sad. Or a sad song when I’m happy. Whatever
inspires me at the moment, whatever I see or whatever touches me at the
moment and I want to write a song about it, I’ll pursue that.
John: Do you still write songs today?
Smokey: Oh, all the time man. All the time.
John: Once you’re a songwriter it never goes away, right?
Smokey: Well, I hope not. I’ve gone
through spells where it wasn’t happening as rapidly as it happens
sometimes but, right now, it’s kind of flowing and I’m doing a lot of writing.
Smokey Robinson interview
Soul legend Smokey Robinson - the star of this weekend’s BBC Electric Proms -
talks about his 50 years in music, his new album and why he’s happier than
ever.
21 October 2009
Telegraph (UK)
The first thing you notice about Smokey
Robinson is his eyes. They’re impossibly green, flecked with gold, and
passed down by his French great-grandmother. They’re stunning. “Oh,
gosh.” he says, bashfully. “Thank you very, very much.”
That’s the second thing you notice: he’s genuinely sweet. He greets you
with a hug, insists you call him “Smokey,” and calls you “honey” in a
gentle falsetto voice that’s lulled fans for more than 50 years in such
Motown hits as You’ve Really Got a Hold On Me and The Tracks of My
Tears.
Amazingly, at 69, Robinson’s
voice is still gentle and smooth as demonstrated on a new album, Time
Flies When You’re Having Fun. Featuring guest artists Carlos Santana,
India Arie and Joss Stone, the title of the album is a headline for his
life.
“I’m having a ball. I feel better than I did at 25,” he says. “My
favourite part is doing the concerts because I get to see the fans.” It
is apt then that the Motown legend is headlining the BBC’s Electric
Proms series on Saturday at the Roundhouse in London. “I never ever do a
concert for people; I do a concert with people. They’re singing the
songs and having a great time, too.”
Which is
very easy to imagine because just spending 90 minutes with Robinson is a
great time. He’s got some kind of happiness mojo, the secret of which
is hidden in his music. Spend a few days listening to such classics as
Shop Around and More Love or ones he wrote for others – My Guy for Mary
Wells and The Way You Do the Things You Do for the Temptations. You
can’t help but be in a good mood.
With
the lyricism of so much pop music today revolving around bravado,
knowingness and irony, there’s little room for the kind of romantic
vulnerability or daydreaming about a first kiss that Robinson
specialises in.
“There are no childhoods any more,” says Robinson wistfully.
And then, for the first time, there is anger in his voice. “Our kids are
indoctrinated from the time they’re two years old with the news, the
computer, advertising, every single, solitary thing. Our kids are
brilliant – they’re not stupid. This stuff is touching them. It’s taking
their childhood. They got too much information too fast. So…”
His voice trails off and he nods as if to say: “Enough about that.” But
that – the preservation of innocence – may explain what makes Robinson
tick.
There’s a hidden track on his new album, a jazzy version
of I Want You Back, which was the first Jackson Five single to be
released on Motown in 1969.
“I’d got the CD all pressed up, and
then Mike died,” he says, his voice softening when he talks about the
man he calls “my little brother”. “I didn’t want people to say he’s
exploiting the fact that Michael died, so I didn’t even list it on the
CD.”
Jackson never got a chance to listen to it. The two hadn’t
spoken in a decade, and Jackson had increasingly isolated himself with a
menagerie of “yes people”. Still, his death, Robinson says, was “sudden
impact and totally unexpected”.
Both men, arguably, are the
pied pipers of their generations, casting spells on fans with songs that
embody a childlike sense of wonder and raw emotion. Women at concerts
crumple into tears when Robinson sings Tracks of My Tears.
“Thank God for women!” he says earnestly. “You guys make the world go round.”
To understand what makes Robinson’s vulnerable, you’ve got to go back
to and Detroit, Michigan, in 1946 when six-year-old William “Smokey”
Robinson wrote and sang his first song, Goodnight, Little Children, in a
school play.
“At that point, I became Cole Porter to my mom.
She was in the audience nudging people, 'That’s my son!’ She had me
singing on the phone to our relatives.”
When Smokey was 10 and
on his way to school, his mother called him to her bedside and told him:
“I want you to always be a good boy.” She died that afternoon from a
cerebral haemorrhage and set in motion the recurring themes in
Robinson’s music: women, devotional love, tragic loss.
On his
new album, he sings a haunting cover of Don’t Know Why, the Jesse Harris
track that Norah Jones made famous. “It’s a song about somebody who
loves somebody,” he says. “It frightened them. They didn’t know what
they’d have to give up of themselves to go and be with this person.” He
heard it in the car one day and couldn’t get it out of his head.
When Robinson’s mother died, his older sister moved her family into the
house, making it 11 children under one roof, three kids to a bed. At
15, Robinson formed the Matadors, a five-member harmony group later
renamed the Miracles when singer Claudette Rogers joined.
By 19,
Robinson had married Rogers (a union that lasted 27 years) and
convinced his friend, songwriter Berry Gordy Jr, to start the Motown
label. Robinson earned $5 a week writing songs. In 1960, at the age of
20, he penned Motown’s first million-selling record, Shop Around.
With the Miracles, Robinson scored 27 hits for Motown between 1960 and
1971, including Tears of a Clown, which went to No 1 in the UK first. He
split from the band in 1972 to focus on his role as vice president of
Motown and a solo career that garnered chart-topping hit singles
Cruisin’, One Heartbeat, Being With You, and a Grammy Award in 1987 for
Just to See Her. (Even a pop homage to the singer, ABC’s When Smokey
Sings, topped the charts in the US and UK in 1987)
Since penning
his first song at six, Robinson has been credited on more than 4,000
songs, covered by everyone from the Beatles to En Vogue, and was once
described by Bob Dylan as “America’s greatest living poet”. In 1987, he
was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
But darkness
found him even under the spotlight. In the mid-Eighties, Robinson
developed a serious cocaine addiction. “I was dead. It was over. I was a
walking corpse. A skeleton,” he recalls.
He found God again (“I’m not a religious man, but I’m very spiritual”) and has been drug-and alcohol-free since May 1986.
Happily married for the past eight years to longtime friend Frances
Glandney, Robinson’s ambitions are clearly still not at an end. “I hope
one day soon to have a great role in a great movie. I’m not talking
about the starring role or anything like that, just a great role in a
great movie.”
Whether he gets his wish or not, Robinson’s unashamed love of romance will be his legacy to the world.
“When your lady’s coming over or your guy’s coming over,” he says with a
puckish smile, “You can just put my record on and, um, go for it! You
know what I mean?”
- Smokey Robinson and his band perform with the BBC Orchestra at the
Roundhouse, London NW1, on Saturday. Time Flies When You’re Having Fun
is out on Monday.
http://www.bluesandsoul.com/feature/379/smokey_robinson__motown_classic_interview_-_dec_1992/
Feature
SMOKEY ROBINSON: Motown Classic Interview -
December 1992
Pete Lewis remembers meeting Smokey Robinson back
in late 1992, when the Motown mega-legend gave âB&Sâ arguably
one of his most revealing in-depth interviews ever
Back in the Sixties, Bob Dylan referred to him as "the world's
greatest living poet"; today, an entire US radio format - 'The Quiet
Storm' - owes its name to the title of one of his Seventies albums. As
an artist he is immediately recognisable by his unique high-pitched,
tremulous vocal style while visually his equally distinctive blue eyes
are striking in their intensity. The awards that have been bestowed upon
him are innumerable: The Grammy; places in both the Rock'n'Roll Hall Of
Fame and the Songwriters Hall Of Fame; the Soul Train Heritage Award;
the NARAS Living Legend Award, to name but a few.
In addition to his sensitive performances on numerous million-selling
records both in his own right and earlier as frontman of The Miracles,
he has penned some of the most timeless and significant compostitions of
the last three decades. From 'My Guy'' to 'My Girl'; from the pathos of
'The Tracks Of My Tears' to the romance or 'Being With You', Smokey
Robinson will go down in history as one of the most gifted
singer/songwriter/producers of our time.
Recently in the UK for his first live performance in nine years,
Smokey impressed his fans with a first class performance and left them
the ideal early Christmas present in the form of a new 22 track
compilation of 'Greatest Hits', released on Polygram TV.
Born in Detroit, Smokey Robinson was raised by his mother and two
sisters and grew up surrounded by the music of jazz greats like Sarah
Vaughn, Billy Eckstine, Count Basie and Duke Ellington. In 1954 he
joined with high school friends Bobby Rogers, Pete Moore and Ronnie
White to form a vocal group which became The Metadors; whose sister
group, The Metadorettes, included Bobby's sister Claudette in their
line-up.
Smokey takes up the story: "Shortly after we graduated from High
School we had the chance to audition for Jackie Wilson's manager", he
remembers: "Claudette would always come to our rehearsals and so, since
she knew some of our material, we took her down to the audition with us.
But Jackie Wilson's managers weren't impressed at all, they rejected us
because we looked too much like The Platters, who were already out and
also comprised four guys and a girl with a guy lead who sang high.
However, Berry Gordy - who at that time was the songwriter for Jackie
Wilson - was there, and he was very impressed 'cause he hadn't heard any
of the songs that we sang. He came outside afterwards and introduced
himself, and then I knew immediately who he was because I had ALL Jackie
Wilson's records and I always looked on records and songs to see who'd
written them! He critiqued them - he was very patient with me, and he
actually was the first one who showed me how to write songs. From that
moment on he and I were friends and, after I'd known him for about a
year or so, he started Motown."
Before forming the label, Gordy produced some records for Smokey's
group who by now were called The Miracles: "Berry had already produced a
record for us called 'Get A Job' which was our very first record and
released out of New York on this record company called End Records. Then
we made another record for them called 'I Need Some Money' backed with a
song called 'I Cried'. So we had two records on the End label in New
York. And they didn't pay us! So Berry just said he was going to start
his OWN record company, and the first Motown record ever was on the
Tamla label - a record called 'Come To Me' by an artist named Marv
Johnson, but the company was only set up for local distribution. Then
we, The Miracles, released a record called 'Bad Girl' on Motown locally,
and it was just like a big smash hit in Detroit and the surrounding
areas. So Berry sold our national distribution rights, for two records
only, to Chess Records in Chicago - and THEY didn't pay us! So then our
next record was 'Way Over There' and Berry and I were talking one day,
and I said 'Hey man, why don't you just go national with this record
because, you know, nobody's paying us anywhere. So what have you got to
lose?'... So he did - and 'Way Over There' by The Miracles was the very
first Motown record that was a national release, and that was the birth
of what started to happen!"
Meanwhile, Claudette Rogers had married Smokey and become Claudette
Robinson in time for The Miracles' next release 'Shop Around', which
became both the group's and Motown's first national US Number One.
However, she was soon to leave the group, as far as touring was
concerned: "Pete Moore went into national service in 1963 and didn't
come back till the end of l964, and at that time Claudette left so that
we could try to have some babies", explains Smokey: "We'd actually found
out she was pregnant and had lost a lot of weight and got very ill
being on the road. So I made her come off the road. In fact, the last
date that she did with us live was here in England. Because we'd never
been here before, she came over with us and we all performed here. After
that she just retired from the road altogether and we kept trying to
have children. We had several miscarriages after that, but finally our
son Berry was born... But Claudette always recorded with The Miracles
the whole time I was in the group, even though she did stop doing the
road work."
This did not however affect the group's success. From the
slow-rolling teenage infatuation of 'You've Really Got A Hold On Me' to
the dancefloor thump of 'Going To A Go-Go', The Miracles were enjoying
hit after hit on the US charts whilst at the same time Smokey was also
earning an awesome reputation in the songwriting/production stakes from
his work with various other Motown acts. Interestingly, throughout the
Sixties, he seemingly was the only big-name Motown act to be allowed to
cross the line by Berry Gordy, who otherwise appeared to keep a very
definite separation between his artists and his writer/producers. Was
this due to Gordy being impressed by Robinson's writing capabilities at
their first meeting? "Yes, I think that had a great deal to do with it,
and also he had the confidence that I could do it", agrees Smokey: But I
should also point out that in those days we had committees where we
listened and critiqued everybody's stuff. So actually it wasn't like the
other artists weren't writing songs for themselves, it was just that
their stuff wasn't up to par to come out."
And how does he remember most of the artists he worked with during
this period? "Well, of course Mary Wells was the first artist that I
started to work with on a regular basis - the first hit I had with her
was called 'I'm The One Who Really Loves You'. I had about five Top Ten
records with her, then I did 'My Guy' which was Number One. Then shortly
after that she left - she'd fallen in love with her road manager who
convinced her to leave because he said he could get her more of
everything. I tried to talk her out of it because I knew the guy didn't
know what he was doing... But he convinced her, and she became
oblivious. It really was a big shame, because I think had she stayed at
Motown she could have been around always."
"Then of course came The Temptations", he remembers: "We signed them,
I started to work with them, and it took me about three records to get
them a big hit - the first one was 'The Way You Do The Things You Do'.
Then I started to work with The Marvelettes, and the first really big
hit I ever had with them was a thing called 'Don't Mess With Bill'. So, I
had several people that I was basically working with exclusively. Then
of course Marvin Gaye was there - Marvin had always wanted to sing like
Nat King Cole, he didn't want to sing rock type stuff. So he recorded
songs like 'Mr. Sandman' and ballads and stuff, but he could never get a
hit. Then Mickey Stevenson, who was at the time our A&R director,
recorded 'Stubborn Kinda Fellow' on him and put him into another realm,
and he started to do 'Hitch Hikeâ and songs like that - and eventually
I started working with him and had a few hits. But I worked closely
with basically everybody. Some of the people I had hits with, some I
didn't - I never had a hit with The Four Tops, though I recorded them
many times. So some people I just had the right combination with, and
some I didn't."
By the late Sixties, The Miracles - by then known as Smokey Robinson
& The Miracles - had become an American institution, thanks to
Smokey's distinctive lead vocals and the quality of his hit songs - like
the punchy 'I Second That Emotion' and the poignant classic 'Tracks Of
My Tears', which contained some of Smokey's finest lyrics ever. Yet the
group's first international Number One actually emanated from the UK,
when in 1970 the London office of Motown resurrected a forgotten
three-year-old album track entitled 'Tears Of A Clown': "The music was
written by Stevie Wonder", recalls Robinson: "ln those days we used to
do a lot of collaborating - you know, some people did great music but
didn't necessarily do lyrics, and at that time Stevie wasn't doing
lyrics. So he came to me and said 'Hey man, I've got this great music. I
just can't think of a song to go with it!'. So I took it home and
listened to it... The first thing that came to me was that it kind of
reminded me of circus music. So when I realised that I said 'Oh, this
has go to be something about the circus!'... And a few days later I
thought of Pagliacci, which is a very touching story because he was a
real person - a real Italian clown, one of the greatest clowns to ever
live. He made everybody happy, the kids loved him. But, when he went off
to his dressing room he was one of the saddest people in the world. He
was just lonely. So I decided to write about him."
"Anyway, we recorded that song in 1967 and nothing happened with it
in The States - just an obscure cut on an album. Then in 1970 this girl
who worked for our Motown office over here in London said 'Hey, this
would be a great hit over here!'. So they released it over here, and it
was Number One! So Berry said 'Hey, if it's Number One over there, then
we're definitely gonna release it over HERE!'... And it was like Number
One all over the world! That was really something, to have a song that
just laid around for that time period and then came back like that!"
The hit records may have kept on coming - like 1971's catchy 'I Don't
Blame You At All' - but by 1972 the constant years of travelling on the
road had taken their personal toll, and Smokey finally decided to split
from the group: "When I left The Miracles, the only thing that I really
enjoyed about show business was when we actually got out on stage, when
we performed to the people - I LOVED that. But everything that led up
to that, I HATED it! I hated recording, I hated the travelling, the
buses, the planes, trains, limos, the hotels, the restaurants... You
know, I'd had it! By that time my two eldest children had been born, and
I just really didn't like being away from them too much. You know, when
I was with The Miracles, probably 80 to 90 per cent of my life was
spent on the road. It took my wife and I a long time to have children,
so I wanted to know them in their formative years, and it became harder
and harder for me to leave. But then going solo was a scary thing too -
something that took a lot of getting used to. But, like I said,
performing has always been one of my favourite things in life. So that
helped me overcome that."
Smokey's style of songwriting for his first solo album, 1973's
'Smokey', continued his long tradition of writing primarily love lyrics,
which he describes as an everlasting subject: "If you write about a
dance, about cars or political situations, sooner or later your material
sounds passe, dated. But love always has its significance, it never
goes out of style and ANYTHING might inspire me. I might see something
on television, or be driving down the street and see a road sign, or you
might say something to me, and I'd say 'Wow, that'll be a great
song'... You know, and if it's a hit I'll give you a credit!", he adds
jokingly.
"I look upon it as a gift, because I'm not one of those songwriters
who's moody and has to go off to the mountains or the desert and take
two months off where I do nothing but write! I'm not like that, I write
all the time - probably most days of my lfie I write at least a part of a
song, and it just comes, just there. It's just in the air. Everybody
has a gift, it's just that some people never discover theirs because
they don't pursue it."
SMOKEY ROBINSON: THE M.I.Q. MASTER INTERVIEW (by. A. Scott Galloway)
October 12, 2017
Music Industry Quarterly
https://www.wsj.com/articles/SB10001424127887323826704578356231916710530
A Most Enduring Miracle
by Marc Myers
March 25, 2013
Los Angeles
Asked to sing the very first song he wrote—for his sixth-grade play—Smokey Robinson leaned back on the brown leather sectional sofa in his home's wood-paneled den. "The last verse went, 'Good night little children, good night little children, it's time to go to bed.'" Laughing, he continued: "My mother thought I was George Gershwin. She called people she didn't even know to tell them I had written a song."
With just weeks until the Broadway premiere of "Motown: The Musical"—which traces Berry Gordy's founding of the label in 1959 and his role in the music that followed—Mr. Robinson, 73, was in a reflective mood. Back in the 1960s, Mr. Robinson was a key architect of Motown's crossover sound as a performer, songwriter, producer and company vice president.
ZINA SAUNDERS
As a composer, Mr. Robinson wrote 145 Billboard hits—including 18 No. 1 singles for Motown, such as "My Guy," "My Girl," "Tears of a Clown" and "Get Ready"—ranking him in 10th place (after Carole King) on Record Research's list of post-1955 hit songwriters. As the first Motown act to have a No. 1 single and a million-seller, with "Shop Around" in 1961, Mr. Robinson's Miracles combined cool confidence and energetic optimism to establish the label's winning formula.
Dressed in a thin putty-colored sweater, jeans and trendy black slip-on sneakers with white bottoms, Mr. Robinson had just returned from the Venetian Las Vegas, where he is presenting Human Nature, an Australian vocal group that performs Motown hits. "Berry and I are competitive, but this show has nothing to do with that—the group is just doing Motown songs," he said. "The Motown musical on Broadway is about Berry's life."
Mr. Robinson's Motown career and Mr. Gordy's life have long been intertwined. The pair first met in Detroit in 1957, when Mr. Robinson and his group—known then as the Matadors—auditioned at Brunswick Records, Jackie Wilson's label. "Berry wrote songs for Jackie, so he was there that day," Mr. Robinson said. "The other guys in the room didn't like us much, but Berry followed us out into the hallway and became our manager."
The following year Mr. Gordy insisted on a change. "Berry thought our name was silly, so we all wrote down new ones and put them in a hat. I wrote down 'Miracles.' We were four guys and Claudette [Rogers], so I wanted a name that was light and encompassing—without gender. Miracles was picked."
When Mr. Gordy started Tamla Records in 1959 with an $800 family loan (the label merged with Motown a year later), Mr. Robinson became his right-hand music man. "There were just five of us on the first day," Mr. Robinson said. "Berry sat us down and said we were going to make quality music with great beats and great stories—for black kids, white kids, for everyone. From the start, Motown was a place of fierce competition and collaboration. We all just wanted to make killer music."
Each week, Mr. Robinson had to run the same gantlet as Motown's other writers. Demos of new songs were played at Friday morning meetings, with the best ones assigned to different groups. "Only Berry and the creative people were allowed in. Everyone would listen and offer suggestions to make songs better. To this day, I still bring my new songs to Berry for honest feedback. He'll say, 'Smoke, I dig this' or 'Man, that's garbage.'"
Growing up in Detroit, Mr. Robinson learned about music by listening to the records his mother and two older sisters played from dawn until lights out. "I sang along to everything—from Sarah Vaughan and Ella Fitzgerald to gut-bucket blues, gospel and jazz. In my teens, my vocal idols changed to Jackie Wilson, Sam Cooke, Clyde McPhatter, Frankie Lymon and Nolan Strong—in that order. I'm a high tenor, so they were perfect role models."
Though he sang in his high-school glee club, Mr. Robinson said he did not study music formally—referring to his talents as "intuitive" and "a blessing." "Berry's first wife taught me about notes and chords, so I can read music today. But I'm not fluent to the point where you can show me sheet music and I can sit down and play it. I can't do that."
Mr. Robinson credits his mother with teaching him how to turn a phrase. "My mama often used colorful sayings and rhymes to make a point so we'd think about them and remember what she had said."
The song that put Mr. Robinson and Motown on the map was "Shop Around." "I originally wrote it for Barrett Strong—another Motown artist. His first hit was 'Money (That's What I Want).' What do you do with money? You shop around. I wrote the song in 20 minutes—in a midtempo bluesy style."
But when Mr. Gordy heard the demo, he wanted Mr. Robinson to record it instead. "So I did, but when we released the single, it sort of sat there," Mr. Robinson said. "Two weeks later, Berry called me at 3 a.m. and told me to come to the studio with the Miracles. He wanted us to rerecord it faster—with more punch and urgency. When I arrived, everyone was there except the piano player, so Berry played it. When the new single came out, the record became a smash hit."
Today, Mr. Robinson continues to find inspiration for lyrics in "everyday life"—overheard conversations, radio banter and even billboard ad copy. "I have a method now where I call my voicemail and leave ideas there until I can put them down on paper. You might say something to me during this interview and I'll say, 'Wow, that's a great title.' It happens for me that way."
With Latin America now experiencing a digital-music boom, Mr. Robinson appears to be diversifying. "I've started writing new songs in Spanish, because I want to do a Spanish album. I've been working on my Spanish for the past four years."
In the YouTube age, Mr. Robinson's legacy has already been preserved in digital amber—allowing millions of viewers world-wide to access video clips of his early television appearances. Asked to show this writer a Miracles dance step from a 1961 "American Bandstand" clip of "Shop Around," Mr. Robinson leapt up but was hesitant.
"I think we were just cross-stepping—with a kick and turn like this," he said, demonstrating. "Honestly, though, I'm not the greatest dancer. [Motown choreographer] Cholly Atkins used to say, 'I'm glad you're the lead singer so I don't have to teach you these steps.'"
Mr. Myers writes daily about music at JazzWax.com and is author of "Why Jazz Happened" (University of California Press).
THE MUSIC OF SMOKEY ROBINSON: AN EXTENSIVE VIDEO OVERVIEW, A CROSS SECTION OF RECORDINGS, MUSICAL ANALYSIS AND COMMENTARY, PLUS VARIOUS INTERVIEWS WITH SMOKEY ROBINSON: