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I wrote this piece in 2007 for a now-defunct website called halloffame.com, about the Funk Brothers. It’s republished here in honor of bassist Bob Babbit, who died July 16 of brain cancer. He was 74. The story of the Funk Brothers is one of the most complicated and convoluted in pop music history. And it’s not done yet … While they made some of the silkiest, joyous and most soulful music of the 1960s, their story is anything but smooth . And their identity is still a question mark to many fans: Who exactly were the Funk Brothers then? And who are the Funk Brothers now? The Funk Brothers is the name taken by the group of musicians that backed many of Motown’s biggest stars from the early 1960s through 1972. Folks like Smokey Robinson, the Four Tops, the Supremes, Marvin Gaye and the Temptations. The Funk Brothers have had multiple band members – the online encyclopedia Wikipedia credits 16 primary players - and have had numerous disputes over money and credit. There’s no disputing this, though: The Funk Brothers played on more No. 1 singles than the Beatles, Elvis, the Rolling Stones and the Beach Boys combined. (In fact, the Beatles and Stones covered Motown songs at various points in their careers.) Yet, the Funk Brothers – largely anonymous to anyone outside the music business - fell off the face of the earth when Motown moved to Los Angeles in 1972 and no longer needed their services. “We realized we were being left out of the dream,” keyboardist/band leader Joe Hunter says in the 2002 documentary, “Standing in the Shadows of Motown,” directed by Paul Justman. The title of the film reflects the position the band members were in – as well as being a partial title of a Four Tops song that they played on. The Funk Brother emerged because during the early ‘60s, Motown singers and singing groups didn’t play instruments. Motown boss Berry Gordy had them schooled in vocals, choreography and presentation. And how to be photogenic stars who crossed boundaries and reached out to one and all. Friendly ambassadors of universal themes. “Motown registered the phrase ‘The Sound of Young America,” says Boston-based music archivist and collector David Bieber. “It was colorblind. The Funk Brothers created that brand, that sound. They nuanced the arrangement on an ongoing basis so there was that thread of musical continuity and similarity. There were a number of songs where you’d hear the intro but had to wait for the vocal to come in to identify the song. They had such a great groove going you didn’t mind hearing it again and again.” “Session players are often really inventive, great musicians, who can help you realize what it’s in your mind. It takes a great nimble creativity,” says Paul Justman’s brother, Seth, former keyboardist for the J. Geils Band and a solo artist. He jammed with, and got to know, the Funk Brothers in 2001. He puts the Funk Brothers right at the top of the heap. Jamming with keyboardist Joe Taylor was a treat. By the early ‘70s, the Motown sound and modus operandi had changed. Artists like Stevie Wonder and Marvin Gaye – who were musicians, too - were talking more control over their records. Both the label and the artists became more album-driven, as opposed to singles-driven, prime examples being Gaye’s “What’s Going On” and Wonder’s “Innervisions.” As to the Funk Brothers, some retired, some played sessions, some tried to work in Los Angeles, some passed on. Original drummer Benny Benjamin died in 1969 of a stroke after battling heroin and alcohol addiction. Original bassist James Jamerson died in 1983, from complications stemming from his alcoholism. The two are in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame as sidemen. Jamerson was the featured player in Allan Slutsky’s 1989 book upon which the movie drew. It was called “Standing in the Shadows of Motown: The Life and Times of James Jamerson.” Seth Justman, who helped his brother on the film, was a big Motown fan growing up. The music “was really different from the standpoint of the energy of songs,” he says, “especially in the bass and drums. They changed things around. What happened is the propulsion, the energy. The engine is the bass, pumping and plowing ahead with so much force. The drums are relentless but under control. Certainly, Jamerson set the tone, but the overall idea of having bass so active and melodic, it hadn’t been done before.” Jamerson, brilliant but troubled, was replaced by Bob Babbitt in 1967. Seth Justman calls Babbitt “a tremendous person, a great guy with his touch, the way he plays bass, the roundness of his sound. He’s light on strings but he fills the air with that foundation. I respect musicians who stay in touch with the reasons they became musicians in the first place – ‘Let’s get into a room and pick up our instruments and start playing.’ That’s Babbitt, he’s got that passion.” (Babbitt was the key musician in getting young singer Whitney Wolanin’s career jump-started. See sidebar story.) It is Babbitt who picks up the story of the Funk Brothers circa 2007. He and the Funk Brothers are on a Canadian tour, and after a gig, back at his hotel, Babbitt picks up the phone and lets loose for an hour. The first thing you should know: There are now two versions of the Funk Brothers. (This seems, sadly, to follow form, in the way that there have been various Supremes and Temptations out on the road, at times.) Babbitt plays in what he asserts is the legitimate Funk Brothers. It consists of him, drummer Uriel Jones and guitarist Eddie Willis, plus four sideman. Their singers are Delbert Nelson, Donna Curtin and Marcia Ware. Last year, another group formed by vibist/percussionist Jack Ashford – who took keyboardist Joe Hunter with him – began playing Europe under the same name. Hunter, 79, died Feb. 2, 2007. “I don’t think that will stop Jack,’’ says Babbitt. This split was particularly stressful, says Babbitt. They’d already had some problems since re-forming for the “Standing in the Shadows” movie in 2001. That experience – after a long, long haul to get there – was clearly a late and unexpected high point of their career. And the film got them work. But there were troubles. At one point, Slutsky managed them, and Babbitt says that didn’t work so well. Then, another management deal went sour. So they went in-house. Babbitt says, “We worked about four months with Jack doing the accounting and negotiating. We had put our faith and trust in him. Then, Jack quit the band, and tried to hire our sidemen. (Aside from Joe) the other guys wouldn’t go with Jack. We tried to go to court; we had a partnership whereby rule of majority we would get to keep the name. We had Joe Messina on our side, even though he had retired. (Jack) claimed the signatures were forged.” Remaining with Babbitt’s Funk Brothers band are drummer Spider Webb, guitarist Ray Monette (formerly of Rare Earth), percussionist Treaty Womack and keyboardist/musical director, Rob Jones. They pick up local horn sections when they get to the towns in which they play. The material they play is what you know and what you’d hope to hear: Motown hits. Sometimes they’ll play a straight hour-long set; sometimes they play two 45-minute shows. You’ll get at least 25 songs. Ask Babbitt about highlights, and he says, “That’s a hard question. We got a couple show-stoppers –‘Brokenhearted,’ ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.’ It’s hard to say. What’s not a highlight?” “We have a lot of fun, and we can see it in the audience,” continues Babbitt. When the people see you’re having fun, they’re having fun. You see that, and that raises you to another level.” Asked about the glory days in Detroit, Babbitt says, “Everybody was so young it didn’t hit us. We were just trying to raise our family, happy to be working. When I moved to the East Coast, that’s when the impact hit me.” “I moved to Nashville in ‘86, trying to introduce myself to people around town. I made some phone calls and talked to some producers, and they asked if I had a resume or a reel. I thought ‘0h my god,’ but I did send a resume out. I had a producer call me and said ‘You said you played on one of my favorite records, ‘”Midnight Train to Georgia.” I bought the album and didn’t see your name on it. How do I know you played on that record?’ I gave him the phone number of the producer who lived in New Jersey. I never heard from him again.” Even a softball question to Babbitt about the best of times, sends him back to the land of bitter memories. It took from 1990 to 2001 to get the movie made. “I just about gave up on it,” says Babbitt. Paul Justman says they must have taken 1000 meetings, but backers were fearful of a movie without the big Motown stars in it. Justman said he wasn’t telling the stars story. He was telling the other guys story. And he was not unaware of the group’s problems – shady financial dealings, lack of credit and more – but, he says, “The movie was about obscurity amidst this incredible success. Each guy had certain grievances. I said ‘I’m making a movie. What I’d like to do is make a movie about the best part of what you are, what you brought into the world.’ That idea was based on the fact that every business – logging, steel - has problems. It’s the beauty you brought into the world.” “There are few groups of musicians who had the kind of impact the Funk Brothers have had,” continues Justman. “You could almost say there are none. If you examine their musicianship, you’ll be more and more impressed about their depth and the level they were on. It’s not so much how much you play, it’s the decisions you make within a song. Like a great painter, you leave space and make the right decision. They have incredible dynamics within the song. Take ‘You Keep Me Hanging On.’ Perfect decision. ‘You Really Got a Hold on Me’ - deceptively simple. You’ve got jazz guys making a pop song.” For the film, they played a concert where singers like Joan Osborne, Chaka Kahn, Gerald Levert and Montell Jordan took the spots once occupied by Motown’s biggest stars. Following the film’s release in May, 2002, the Funk Brothers went out on the road. The DVD was released in April. 2003. They were granted a White House audience with President George W. Bush. The Funk Brothers share interesting parallels with the Buena Vista Social Club, notes archivist David Bieber, of the Cuban session musicians. “You have the same story: These incredibly talented musicians who’ve become elderly, didn’t see the financial fruits of their labor and artistry, and didn’t have significant recognition during their most prolific period. And then some white guys came along and put them on the map.” (Ry Cooder did the trick for Buena Vista.) Things did change for the Brothers after the movie, which won two Grammys. There was recognition, a measure of fame … and more trouble. Says Babbitt: “The film was made because here’s these guys that played on a lot of records and didn’t get credit, lost money, didn’t get work, and others said they played on records. There were no union contracts, which affected the pension ... The idea was to get these guys recognition and maybe get some of the money they lost. If you look at things that happened since film came out, you wouldn’t believe the scenarios that happened financially. But it would come back to us as ‘ It was you guys fault.’ It’s sad. That’s what we’re not happy about. We got made to look like bad guys. What Jack Ashford did to us … There’s been too much shit from one of our own. We were caught in a trap. I’m sad it went down the way it went down.” Upside? “I still feel good about a lot of things. We’re fortunate we’re still here, to go out and play, make our mark. We’re the last guys left playing. I don’t how long any of us can keep going playing, but we’re trying and we feel pretty good about that and where we’re going. We’re going to give it a shot. You have to keep your mind sharp. It’s a constantly changing business, always looking for something new.” “Their power,” says Seth Justman “is them united and together, not all of one style but of one mind, so empathetic to what the other guys do.” |