by Dan Charnas With Soul Train, which made its debut on one Chicago TV station in 1970 and spread quickly to dozens of American markets, Cornelius created the first black-owned nationally syndicated TV franchise. As such, Cornelius was the television analogue to black record business entrepreneurs like Berry Gordy and the precursor to future black TV mogul Bob Johnson, who founded the Black Entertainment Television cable channel in 1980.
Cornelius insisted on as much black presence behind the cameras as he induced in front of them, and he was one of the first black moguls to expand his brand beyond its origins: producing records (Cornelius was the executive producer behind the bubblegum-soul group Shalamar) and, eventually, award shows.
It would be easy to tell the story of Soul Train with facts and
figures. It ran for 35 seasons, making it the longest continuously airing
first-run syndicated television program. It's been referenced in many song
lyrics, films and TV shows. Countless R&B and soul acts performed on the
show and credited Soul Train as a crucial element of their success.
But the show's impact on America's collective cultural identity is best
described by the people who watched it and let it shape their musical
sensibilities. While the show's audience was always primarily
African-American, Soul Train was also a cross-cultural hit. Seems we
all wanted to check out the latest moves and fashions from that in-studio
dance floor. Watching a new DVD compilation titled The Best of Soul Train,
it's hard not to be struck by the time-capsule-like effect of the fashion —
an experience similar to looking at photos of our high-school years and
cringing at how cool we thought we looked.
Fashion aside, though, music is the star of this show, and there is plenty
to appreciate. So pull back the rug in the living room, call some friends and
get your own Soul Train Line going, because this DVD contains classic
performances by countless favorites in their prime. We've pulled aside
four of our favorite videos here. Please leave us your own Soul Train
memories in the comments section below.
Songs We Love: The Best Of 'Soul Train - Aretha Franklin And Smokey
Robinson, "Ooo Baby Baby"
We think of Aretha
Franklin and immediately think of her magnificent voice. But her
success began only when the producers at Atlantic Records put her behind
the piano and let her sing. The rest, as they say, is history.
One cool nugget of that history is this short clip of Franklin and Smokey
Robinson performing a duet on one of his songs, "Ooo Baby
Baby," with Franklin playing the piano. She starts the song in the
slow, almost march-like cadence of African-American gospel piano style.
As she lets the first "Ooo" sail out, it's almost as if
Robinson doesn't recognize own his song, until he smiles a musician's
smile as he recognizes how Franklin worked a familiar song into
something unexpected and exciting. She keeps it in the church as those
two familiar voices float around each other, caressing Robinson's
timeless words asking for forgiveness and redemption, all in under 2:30.
This clip is what music is all about — in the moment, over before you
know it, leaving only the chills that accompany a rare opportunity to
hear these legends sing in two-part harmony together (with Franklin
casually showing her vocal range by taking the upper register). "We
should have been a duo," she says.
Imagine the music that could have come from that partnership.
—Felix Contreras
Barry White, "Can't Get Enough Of Your Love"
"The Maestro," Barry
White, was the original Notorious
B.I.G. Think about it: Neither was all that cute, and both
favored blingy, shiny stuff. But none of that stopped women from
swooning over them. I didn't understand or properly appreciate
White's allure until I saw him in concert during the 1990s, when he
performed after Chante Moore and before Earth,
Wind & Fire. White worked the crowd and played all his hits,
but by the time "Love's Theme" came on, he was winded. He
stood to the side of the stage for a few minutes to catch his breath
and wipe off a little sweat while the orchestra continued to play.
Every few chords or so, he would growl into the mic with his
gravelly voice, "yeah" or "sho' you right." That's
when I got it. He didn't have to be cute, because he was smooth. He
had a pillow-talk voice. And he had so much to give — and was
never, ever going to give me up, because I was the first, the last,
his everything. —Tanya Ballard Brown
James Brown, "Get Up I Feel Like Being A Sex Machine"
He keeps asking: "Can I get down?" "Can I get
down?" "Can I get down?" Is that even a question? For
the funky Soul Train dancers, enviable eyewitnesses to the
spectacle, there's but one answer. Actually, for all of us
soul-brother and soul-sister proxies watching from home, there was
no debate anyway. Hell, yeah! There, at the peak of his powers as an
entertainer, was James
Brown: throwing down as a singer; a dancer; an instigating,
grunting, shrieking bandleader, fired up and ready to set the place
aflame. "Make-it-fun-ky."
There's something inspiring, even 35 years on, about watching Soul
Brother Number One's live appearance on Soul Train, the
hippest trip in America. The combination of the performer and that
show keeps up an enervating pace that electrifies the teenagers. It
holds up well in 2010. No, you won't want to put on the clothes
again, but nothing feels as natural as this event. If you look
closely at the musicians — the guys seem so disciplined (or is it
terrified?) as they fight to keep up with JB's cues: a juke here, a
twitch there, a split and a spill. Despite how tight everything
looks and sounds, you can almost feel the scariness in the air; it's
almost like dread, that fear of being the musician who messes up the
funky music on the stage of... Soul Train! Where the
call-and-response is flowing and the dancers are doing their thing
while giving JB his props and even competing, stealing what he's
doing and adding a little bit in their next step. It's a bumping,
jumping, twisting earthquake of music, color and movement — kids
decked out in five-inch platform shoes, Afro hairstyles, bold and
brave and outrageous plaids, impossibly bright colors and perpertual
motion. And with wacky side-angle shots of James Brown's signature
teetering-on-the-edge-of-disaster funky dance moves. All the while,
no matter how rehearsed you think this has to be, it possesses a
raw, pure authenticity. "EeeeeeeYOW!" —Walter
Ray Watson
Stevie Wonder, "These Three Words (Medley)"
Stevie
Wonder — wow, how his voice still makes me tingle from head to
toe. At that time in my life, I lived for Soul Train, and
would have just killed to be in the crowd surrounding him
doing the la-la-las in "My Cherie Amour." And as for
"Sir Duke," I don't believe there was a single
person on the south side of Chicago who didn't know every single
word, and most of us learned to scat from that song. Then there's
"I Wish," the soundtrack to many a barbecue, or just
accompaniment for a walk down King Drive on the way to the
Jewel-Osco — and dancing a little when someone drove by, blasting
that tune out of an open car window. His music reminds me of blue
skies and the bright smiles of the folks who swayed back and forth
to Stevie Wonder no matter what else they were doing. Nothing sums
up his greatness, or expresses my appreciation for him, quite like
"These Three Words." —Allison Keyes
American markets, Cornelius created the first black-owned nationally syndicated TV franchise. As such, Cornelius was the television analogue to black record business entrepreneurs like Berry Gordy and the precursor to future black TV mogul Bob Johnson, who founded the Black Entertainment Television cable channel in 1980.