I've been a Motown freak since I first heard "What's Going On" and "Just My Imagination" at the age of 11, but even I didn't know all the names of all the Brothers. Some of them had long careers in the music biz, some put down their instruments 30 years ago and never picked them up again, and some struggled. All were almost completely anonymous, not even getting a published credit on a record until 1971. One of Motown's most glorious nights, the legendary Motown 25 show in 1983, where Michael Jackson moonwalked his way into history, is also one of the label's most shameful moments. Not only were the Brothers not honored, they were not even invited to the show. James Jamerson, who had always been bitter about the lack of recognition he received for his groundbreaking work, had to buy a ticket from a scalper. (Nobody encapsulated Jamerson's status better than critic Greil Marcus, who characterized the 1979 compilation album The Motown Story as "the history of James Jamerson's bass playing on 58 straight hits.")
A few weeks after the Motown 25 show, Jamerson died. (Benjamin had died in 1968.) In the mid 1980s, author Allan Slutsky and filmmaker Paul Justman started documenting the Funk Brothers' story. Before their film was completed, Van Dyke, White, and Brown died. (Pistol Allen died before the film was completed, Johnny Griffith just days after the premiere.) The survivors are all in their late 60s or early 70s now, and are overjoyed to finally receive the recognition they deserve. Standing in the Shadows of Motown, which had a brief theatrical release last fall, is now available on DVD. In addition to telling the story of the Brothers, Standing in the Shadows of Motown features the Brothers backing up several contemporary vocalists, including Gerald Levert, Bootsy Collins, Ben Harper, Chaka Khan (who won a Grammy with the Brothers for their version of "What's Going On") and Meshell Ndegeocello—but the real show-stopper is Joan Osborne, who holds her own with the Brothers on "Heat Wave," and fronts a titanic "What Becomes of the Brokenhearted?" that stands on a bottom so solid it's as if it's anchored to the center of the earth.
Some writers argue that the glitzy,
radio-friendly Motown hits of the 1960s aren't really soul music at
all—not like the grittier sounds coming out of Stax or Atlantic Records
at the same time. I used to give some credence to that argument, but no
more. Once you've met the Funk Brothers, you know they are the essence
of soul and funk—hitting it on the one every time, for the rest of
time. [posted 5/26/03]