ISLEY BROTHERS: FAMILY THANG
The Isley Brothers' first hit, the groundshaking "Shout" in 1957, was a thinlydisguised traditional gospel number, one slightly decked-out in a non-gospel musical accompaniment. There was the familiar churchly call-and-response pattern, and the ragged exclamation of a true believer in the singing.
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ISLEY BROTHERS: FAMILY THANG
RJ SMITH
The Isley Brothers' first hit, the groundshaking "Shout" in 1957, was a thinlydisguised traditional gospel number, one slightly decked-out in a non-gospel musical accompaniment. There was the familiar churchly call-and-response pattern, and the ragged exclamation of a true believer in the singing.
These days, the songs are decked out differently. The gospel's been rather transmogrified on their latest record,
Between The Sheets, but it's there between the lines. Hoping they pass for fetching as they lounge on satin sheets on the album cover, they present themselves in the grooves as swank old-hands at the love game. This is Marvin Gaye terrain, of course, but the way both of them put a lilt in it, it's obvious the kind of love they're hoping for has to do with more than sex.
Still, sex is nice. "Twist And Shout," a sort of rewrite of their first hit released in 1959, started talking to the body in a brazen new way. And from there through 1969's "It's Your Thing," the follow-up "Pop That Thang," 1973's crossover wailout "That Lady," and to the present, they've tooled and retooled their own kind of body slam.
T-Neck, an independent label formed by the Isleys, propelled them into a new orbit in more than one way. The group ushered in a pair of new Isleys (and honorary Isley keyboard man Chris Jasper) to the original trio. And, freed of the restrictions Motown, their previous label, had imposed, the group broadened its thinking,they started writing songs critical of deceptive civil rights leaders, warmongers, and the apathetic.
T-Neck also announced the ascendance of guitarist Ernie Isley, surely one of the great jackoff guitar players of all time. As if kicking themselves for letting Jimi Hendrix slip away when he did session work for them in the early '60s, the Brothers turned E into the next-best thing: a headbanded, meaningfully wincing, teeth-picking virtuoso clone.
Surprises seem by now out of the question, but integrity aplenty, not to mention an occasional foray into the land of the good groove, makes watching the Isleys a must. As one of the longest-lived rock 'n' roll groups, they are satisfyingly supple and devoid of hubris. And they seem quite happy. All families should get to grow up this way.
