Two for Tuesday
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Two for Tuesday
Stax Records: How A Tiny Theater Rewrote American Soul
In Memphis, tiny Stax Records grew into a soul powerhouse by ignoring the color line, Black and white musicians collaborated at this studio even as segregation gripped the South. They crafted anthems like Sam & Dave’s jubilant “Soul Man” and Otis Redding’s poignant “(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay,” forging a legacy that transcended racial divides.
Well, hello friends, and welcome to the Two for Two To podcast brought to you by Second Round Music. I'm your host, Michael Pazet, and today we make our final journey riding the soul training for our three-part series of the Muscle Shovel Science. And in this episode, we're leaving Alabama and crossing the river for a trip to Memphis to take a look at the legendary Stax Records. But before we do that, take a listen to the sponsored message, and I'll catch you on the other side. Are you ready to take control of your finances and build a brighter future? Are you sick and tired of being sick and tired of feeling broke all the time? My name is Michael Push, a certified master coach, and I created second-round finances to provide personalized financial coaching based on the proven principles of Dave Ramsey, 7 Baby Steps. Our services include but are not limited to one-on-one financial coaching through student conference or face-to-face budgeting strategies, debt reduction plan, emergency fund creation, retirement planning, and investment guidance. Why does that? Because we believe in empowering our clients with the knowledge and tools they need to achieve financial pace. With our guidance, you'll gain clarity over your financial situation. Develop a realistic and achievable plan and experience hope and confidence in your financial future. I have over 15 years' experience teaching and guiding families in the Ramsey project, along with a degree in finance and work experience in the banking and insurance industries. So let's get started today. Go to secondroundfinancial.com and click Book Now to schedule your free consultation today. So in the 1960s, as Muscle Scholes was crafting hits in Alabama, another revolutionary soul music movement was unfolding up the Mississippi River in Memphis, Tennessee. There, a tiny former movie theater was converted into a recording studio that gave birth to Stax Records, a label and a studio synonymous with Southern Soul Music. Stax, often called Soulsville, USA, as a counterpoint to Motown's Hitsville in Detroit, was more than just a hit factory. It became a crucible of racial integration and musical innovation during some of America's most turbulent years. And in this episode, we'll delve into the rise of Stax Records and its pivotal role during the Civil Rights era and its enduring legacy. We'll take deep dives into two iconic songs that emerged from Stax Studios, Sam and Dave's Upbeat Anthem, Soul Man, and Otis Redding's poignant swan song, Sitting on the Dock of the Bay. Now, through these songs, we'll see how Stack's story is intertwined with social upheaval in the 1960s, from its optimism in the mid-decade civil rights gains to the anguish following Dr. King's assassination, and how the music provided a soundtrack of resilience, pride, and hope. Now Stack's record started with a simple idea in 1957. A white country fiddler named Jim Stewart and his sister, Estelle Axton, decided to open up a recording studio in Memphis. Now Jim was a bank employee by day and a musician by night, and he noticed that Sam Phillips of Sun Records had found great success in Memphis with Elvis Presley and the rockabilly music scene. Now Stewart thought he might try something similar, and he borrowed money from Estelle, and together they set up a makeshift studio in a garage calling their company Satellite Records. Now by 1960, they relocated to an abandoned Capitol Theater at 926 East McLamore Avenue in a working-class black neighborhood in South Memphis. Now Estelle Axton had sold her house to invest in this venture, and she also opened up a small record shop in the front lobby of the theater to help fund the business and to stay attuned to what music the kids in the neighborhood liked. In 1961, satellite was renamed Stax. Now what they did was they took the S and T and Stuart and the A and the X and Axton, put it together, and made Stax Records. They did this after discovering another label had the satellite name. Now with a new name came a new identity, and Stax became an oasis for collaboration across racial lines. Quote, Jim Stewart didn't have to let black people in the door, but he did, end quote. Now that was noted by Memphis music historian Robert Gordon. And in a city rigidly segregated, Stax doors were open to talent regardless of the color simply because of the music. Black teens from the neighborhood wandered into Estelle's satellite record shop and ended up in the studio's control room or the vocal booth if they had a song to sing. And local black musicians and white musicians, they jammed together at stacks all the time, forming integrated bands at the time when performing together in public could be dangerous and even illegal in parts of the South. The atmosphere was casual, but it was electric. You might find a young guitarist like Steve Cropper learning licks from a seasoned blues man, or a teenage Booker T. Jones tinkering on a ham and organ that he found on site. Early on, Stax struck goal with a few breakout hits. In 1961, teenage singer Carla Thomas recorded Gee Wiz Look at His Eyes at Stax, which became a surprise national hit and put the label on the map. And that same year, a racious instrumental by the house band, the Marques, called Last Night, hit it big on the charts. And by 1962, Stax had formed a house band that would become legendary, Booker T and the MGs. It was comprised of Booker T. Jones on the organ or piano, Steve Cropper on guitar, and Louis Steinberg, better known as Doddle Duck Dunn, on the bass, and Al Jackson Jr. on the drums. You might remember Cropper and Dunn from the 1980 hit musical The Blues Brothers. This racially integrated quartet, two black musicians, two white musicians, embodied the Stax spirit. And in the summer of 1962, they recorded an impromptu instrumental jam called Green Onions. This smoky groove and Hammond, Oregon hook caught fire nationally, reaching number one on the RB chart and number three on the pop chart. Green Onions announced that Stax was a new force in soul music, distinct from Motown's polished pop soul. The Memphis sound was grittier, funkier, and it was steeped in blues and gospel. And as Rufus Thomas, one of the Stax early stars, put it, quote, Motown had the sweet, but Stax had the funk, end quote. Stax records offered had a raw edge. You could hear it in the sweat of the horns or the growl of the vocals. Stax became home to a stable of talented black artists. Gritty vocalist Otis Redding and Wilson Pickett. Although Pickett was technically on Atlantic, he recorded at Stax early on. Duo Sam and Dave on Atlantic label, but they was loaned to Stax for recording. And soul man Eddie Floyd, blues guitarist Albert King, and sultry vocal duo Johnny Taylor and Carla Thomas, and the family group, the staple singers, all recorded there in the 70s, among others. Now a crucial partnership formed in 1965 when songwriter-producer Isaac Hayes, a young, tall, self-taught musician, and David Porter teamed up at Stax. This duo began crafting hit songs that would fuel the Stax machine, including the song We'll Now Examine The Iconic Soul Man. In the summer of 1967, as racial tensions in America reached a boiling point, Stax songwriters Isaac Hayes and David Porter sat down watching the TV news in Memphis. Reports flashed of the Detroit riots that July, the 12th Street riots that had left parts of Detroit burning. Amid the chaos, one image struck Isaac Hayes. Some buildings in black neighborhoods had been marked with the word soul. A message from black business owners to potential rioters that this is a black owned establishment, with the hope of being spared from destruction. Hayes, a deep thinker and a soulful composer, immediately connected that to a biblical story. Hayes turned to Porter and suggested they write a song that captured this concept. And what they pinned was soul man. And as Hayes described it, quote, a song about one's struggle to rise above his present condition. It's a pride thing. I'm a soul man, end quote. Now they envisioned lyrics that would celebrate the perseverance and pride of being black in America during hard times, without being overtly political. And the term soul man itself would signify someone who's overcome, someone strong, and self-made despite adversity. Hayes and Porter tailored Soul Man for Sam and Dave, the electrifying vocal duo known for their call and response singing and dynamic stage act. Sam Moore and Dave Prater were two young black singers who had had moderate success, but this song would catapult them to start them. And in June of 1967, they entered Stax Studio A to record Soul Man. Back in them was the Stax House Band, Booker T and MGs, with the Ace Horn section, the Memphis Horns, led by Wayne Jackson and Andrew Love, punctuating the grooves. The recording kicks off with an unmistakable guitar lick, a crunchy, syncopated chord riff on the upbeat, followed by Sam Moore's shouted cue, play it, Steve. That's a direct call for the guitarist Steve Cropper, who indeed came up with and delivers the iconic guitar line that drives the song. Now from the first bars, Soul Man exudes confidence and energy. The groove is mid-tempo, but full of forward momentum, anchored by Al Jackson Jr.'s steady drums and Donald Duck Dunn's in the pocket bass. When Sam and Dave's vocals enter, they sing in unison an assertive line, coming to you on a dusty road. Their vocal interplay, Sam's higher gospel inflected tenor, blended with Dave's rougher baritone, embodies the call and response tradition of black church music. The lyrics spell out the narrative of a man who's earned his way the hard way, got what I got the hard way, and I'll make it better each and every day. The chorus proudly declares, I'm a soul man, a line that becomes more than just a catchy hook. It's an affirmation of black identity and resilience. This subtext was not lost on audiences, especially black listeners, who heard in Soul Man a subtle yet powerful message of racial pride during the heated days of 1967. As later noted, the song expressed at a difficult time the pride of many black Americans. Yet Hayes and Porter wrote it clearly enough that it also functioned as a general feel-good anthem that anyone could sing along to. Now musically, Soul Man is a prototypical stacked soul track. It's driven by groove and horns rather than elaborate production. There are no strings and no fancy effects, just the tight punch of the MGs and the Memphis horns, delivering rhythmic blasts around the vocal lines. And during the bridge, Sam Moore shouts, grab a rope, and the horns mimic the sound of a rope drop with a descending run, a playful touch in the arrangement. And they also included in the line, I was educated from good stock. When I started loving, I just can't stop. And a reference to Woodstock, which kind of amusingly is misconstrued by many which uh refer to the 1969 Rock Festival, though David Porter later clarified that it was actually a nod to a local school in Memphis that was also named Woodstock. And regardless, the spirit of the song was all about empowerment. Released in September 1967, Soul Man rocketed up the charts, peaking at number one on the RB chart and number two on the Billboard Hot 100. It was Stax's biggest hit to date, and it earned Sam and Dave a Grammy Award in 1967 for Best RB Group Performance. The song's success was a triumph for Stax during a challenging year. Just months prior, in April of 1967, Stax's biggest star, Otis Redding, had performed a legendary set at the Monterey Pop Festival, ushering in the era of soul music's crossover to white audiences. Soul Man capitalized on that momentum. And it not only dominated RB radio, but it also attracted white listeners and became a standard in the American Pop Songbook. Years later, in the aforementioned The Blues Brothers movie, a cover of this song would be introduced to a whole new generation, with Steve Cropper himself playing guitar on that version, and Sam Moore cameoing on the vocals. It's a testament to the song's enduring appeal. And for Stax, Soul Man exemplifies what the label stood for. In the midst of the civil right movement, Stax was both a refuge for harsh racial realities and a beacon of integration. As one commentator noted, black and white musicians worked side by side at Stax, oblivious to Jim Crow outside. As trumpet player and band leader Bowlegs Miller sang on one of Stax's B sides, all the people in the world got soul. Soul is not something for just one race. It makes no difference what color your face. However, even as Stack celebrated success like Soul Man, Storm Clouds were gathering. And on December 10th, 1967, Stax superstar Otis Redding, died tragically in a plane crash. That was a devastating loss for the label. Otis was Stack's best selling artist and a beloved figure within the company. And his death, followed by King's assassination a few months later, left Stax reeling. Now Otis Redding's posthumous hit, Sitting on the Dock of the Bay, symbolically marked the end of Stack's first golden era and the beginning of a new chapter. The song itself is a study in contrast, created by Stack's biggest star at the peak of his powers. It was unlike any song he had done before. A mellow, introspective ballad with folk leanings. And it became the biggest hit of his career after he was gone. And the story of Doc of the Bay begins in mid-1967. Otis, having achieved crossover fame with fiery songs like Respect and Try a Little Tenderness, felt the urge to evolve his sound. And after performing at the Monterey Pop Festival in June of '67, where mostly white rock audiences embraced him enthusiastically, Otis was inspired by new musical influences. Now he spent time at I don't know if I'm saying this right, uh Sasalito, California. If somebody knows, you can let me know. Anyhow, he spent some time there that summer, and uh he was staying in a boathouse owned by the promoter Bill Graham. Now they're overlooking the San Francisco Bay, Otis started strumming a guitar and humming a tune quite unlike the hard driving soul he had been known for. Sitting in the morning sun. I'll be sitting when the evening comes. He sang it to himself, inspired by the tranquil scene of ships rolling in and out of the bay, and he jotted down verses on napkins and scrap paper during the tour, and these musings of a lonely figure by the water, far from home. And by November of 1967, Otis was back in Memphis and he was eager to cut the new song at Stacks. Working with a guitarist and producer, Steve Cropper, Otis demoed and refined Doc of the Bay. And Cropper later recounted that Otis wanted to change his style with this song. Do something different, more reflective. And in the studio, they kept the arrangement sparse, gentle guitar from Cropper, and simple but evocative melody. And Otis's wistful lead vocal carrying the emotional weight. Gone were the horn blast and the frenzied shout of the earlier hits. Instead, Redding's voice was restrained, almost weary, as he sang, I left my home in Georgia, headed for the Frisco Bay. Those lines, as Cropper noted, were essentially about Otis himself, leaving his roots to seek something new on the West Coast. And they recorded the bulk of the tracks on November twenty-second, nineteen sixty-seven at Stax Studio, with additional overdubs, especially Cropper's tasteful guitar feels and some percussions on December the seventh. The backing was provided by Booker T and the MGs, but interestingly, it was a very unstacked sounding track. More acoustic guitar strumming and a lifting six eight time feel and a subdued vibe. In fact, Stax executives initially worried that it was too pop and it lacked the soul punch of Redding's usual flair. There was even talk at Stax of maybe adding background vocals from the staple singers to make it sound more RB, an idea that was ultimately shelled. One now famous element of the song is Redding's whistling at the end. Now that's an interesting story. As the song nears its close, Otis doesn't sing a final verse. Instead, he whistles a wistful tune over the fading chords. This was not a calculated artistic choice at first. It happened because Otis simply hadn't finished writing the last verse. And according to Steve Cropper, Otis had planned to scat or sing some type of improvised line there. And what Cropper would later call a little fade out rap during the final take. But Otis, he blanked, and he started whistling. And everyone in the studio liked the haunting quality of the whistling, so they kept it as a placeholder, intending to record a vocal later once Otis finalized the lyrics. But tragically, that session never came. Only three days later, after the final overdub session on December 10th, 1967, Otis Redding died when his tour plane crashed into a Wisconsin lake, killing him and several members of his band, the Barclays. The music world was stunned. Steve Cropper was given the task of finishing Doc of the Bay in the wake of Otis's death, and he mixed the track, and as he did, he decided to leave the whistling inn. He felt it was fitting. A gentle, unresolved coda to Otis's life and career. Cropper even enhanced the ambience of the track by overdubbing the sound of seagulls and waves to literalize the setting of the bay, inspired by Otis's attempts to mimic seagull sounds during the earlier takes. Now these effects made the track even more atmospheric, as if you were right there on the docks with Otis, watching the tide roll away. Now when sitting on a dock of the bay was released in January of 1968, it carried an immense poignancy. It shot to number one on the Billboard Hot 100 charts by March of 1968, becoming the first posthumous number one hit in American chart history. The song also hit number one on RB and number three in the UK. It was unlike any other soul record out at the time. Mellow, reflective, with a folk and blue shades, and it showcased Otis Redding's versatility as an artist. Critics praised it as his finest work, and fans bought millions of copies, though they were listening with heavy hearts. And in the context of Stax, Dock of the Bay was both a triumph and a requiem. Otis's death, coupled with the loss of Stax Atlantic Records distribution deal around the same time. You see, Atlantic had been distributing Stax Records. But when Atlantic was sold to Warner Brothers in late 1967, a contract quirk meant Atlantic retained the rights to all Stax back catalog, and even some of its artists like Sam and Dave. And all this left Stax almost starting from scratch in 1968. However, from the ashes, Stax staged a remarkable comeback known as the Soul Explosion. And it was led by a new executive, Al Bell, who had become the co-owner after buying out Jim Stewart in 1968. Now, Stax in mid-1968 recorded and released an astonishing 27 albums and 30 singles in a short span to rebuild its catalog. They signed new artists and they doubled down on a new identity. One that was even more outspoken, reflective of black consciousness. Isaac Hayes, who had been a behind-the-scenes songwriter, emerged as a solo artist with hot-buttered soul in 1969, pioneering a lush orchestral soul sound, and later winning an Oscar for the theme from Shaft in 1971. The staple singers brought a gospel social justice element with hits like Respect Yourself in 1971 and I'll Take You There in 1972. Now the latter recording was at Muscle Shows, which we talked about last week, showing the cross-pollination of Southern Soul Hubs. And in 1972, Stack staged a Wattstack concert in Los Angeles. This was a massive all-day festival of soul music commemorating the seventh anniversary of the Watts riots. It was often called the Black Woodstock. Attended by over a hundred thousand people, Wattstack, it's kind of hard to say, underscored Stax's role in the black community. And it wasn't just a label, it was a movement. Yet financial troubles loomed by the mid-1970s, and after a distribution deal with CBS Records went sour, Stax found itself in dire straits. And in late 1965, Stax Records would file for bankruptcy, closing its doors. It was a heartbreaking end for a company that had given the world so much joyful music. The studio on Michael Moore Avenue fell into disrepair and was eventually torn down in 1989, years after the bankruptcy. But that was not the final chapter. Community leaders and historians made sure that the legacy lived on. And in 2003, the Stax Museum of American Soul Music opened on the original site, complete with a reconstruction of the studio, the famous Neon Stax Marquee, an exhibit celebrating the artists and the music. The museum highlights how Stax created a decidedly black brand of Southern Soul Music at an integrated company during the height of the Civil Rights Movement, proving a powerful example of how music transcended the limits of the times. The legacy of Stax Records is monumental. And in a mere 15 years, from 1960 to 1975, Stax and its affiliated labels produced around 800 songs that charted, including 167 top 100 pop hits and 243 top 100 RB hits. Songs like Soul Man and Dock of the Bay have become eternal standards. One an anthem of pride and perseverance, and the other of general meditation of life's journeys. The artists, Otis Redding and Sam and Dave, Booker T and the MGs, Isaac Hayes, the Staple Singers, Carla and Rufus Thomas, Johnny Taylor, Albert King, and many more, each left an indelible mark on music. But beyond the charts and accolades, Stack's social impact resonates just as strongly. And at Stack's, the very act of making music was a form of integration and action, a quiet defiance of the segregation that gripped Memphis. Black and white musicians wrote, played, and laughed together daily inside of 926 East McLamore Avenue, modeling a harmony that society had yet to achieve. This didn't magically solve racial tensions, as seen when tragedies did strike, but it did offer a glimpse of what could be, and it gave the world music born from collaboration and mutual respect. And in the words of Stack's writer Deany Parker, we weren't just creating records, we were creating a culture. Stack's music often carried messages. Whether explicit like the staple singers call for self-respect and unity, or implicit like the determined confidence of Soul Man, in the civil rights era, these songs provided comfort, motivation, and a voice for the struggles of the time, and they continue to inspire. The integrated Stax House band showed that Soul knew no color. And as Stax Museum wrote, these stories tell of black and white artists working together to create music during the era of egregious segregation and heated racism in Memphis. Today, the Stax Academy in Memphis mentors young musicians in the soul tradition, keeping the flame alive. The Stax Museum, with artifacts like Isaac Hayes' gold trim Cadillac and portions of the old studio, stand as both a tourist attraction and an education center, enduring new generations learn about the role of soul music in the fight for civil rights. Ultimately, the legacy at Stax Records, much like that of muscle shows, is that music can bring people together and drive cultural change. The soulful sounds that immediated from these modest theater-turned studio in Memphis travel the globe and still echo today. When you hear the opening riff of Soul Man or the wistful whistle at the end of Dyke of the Bay, you're hearing history, the triumphs and the tribulations of an era distilled into notes and rhythms. The fact that The fact that these songs still move audiences, still feature in films and playlists, is a testament to their power. Now, as we conclude our series, we reflect that muscle shows and stacks and stories are twin threads in a rich tapestry of American music. They taught us that soul is more than a genre. It's a feeling, a conviction, and a reflection of life's sorrows and joy. Whether a tiny Alabama town or an urban heart of Memphis, soul music spoke to the humanity and all of us. And in doing so, it left an immortal legacy. Soulsville, USA lives on, not just in Memphis or in Muscle Show, but everywhere a song can uplift the human spirit and remind us of our shared soul. Hey guys, thank you for listening today, and I hope you're enjoying this podcast. If you are, please subscribe or follow the podcast, click the like button, share it with other music lovers, and please consider giving it a five-star rating so we can reach a bigger audience. Now back to the show. Now the muscle shoals and the stacks recordings we've explored across the episodes demonstrate a profound truth. Sometimes the most powerful cultural revolutions begin in the most humble places, a backwood studio or an old movie theater. The Muscle Shoals Swampers and the Stax family both showed the world that great music has no confines of race or region. Their grooves and melodies cross barriers at a time when society was deeply divided. And in doing so, they help pave the way for greater understanding. As we listen to When a Man Loves a Woman, or I'll Take You There, Soul Man, or Doc of the Bay, or any of the hundreds of songs birthed in those studios, we hear the sound of American history in harmony. It's the sound of pain and hope, work and reward, Saturday night dance, and Sunday morning church, all mixed into a distinctly American art form. That is the enduring legacy of muscle shoals and stacks. Music that not only charted hits, but changed hearts. Each episode in this series stands alone, but together they form a larger narrative about the soul of a region and the soul of a nation. A story that will continue to be told as long as these songs are sung. So there you have it, our culmination of the story that not only stacks records, but of the muscle show sound and the three studios that left a mark on American music that'll last forever. I hope you enjoyed it. So again, my name is Michael Pizent, and this has been the Two for Tuesday Podcast brought to you by Second Round Music. Thank you for listening, and remember, we love you and we need you. And come back next week because the music we love always has a story to tell, and we'll keep bringing it two songs at a time. See you next time, and God bless you.