Selling the First Soul Hits of the 1960s: Setting Up Shop

In 1960, optimism was on the rise following the landmark ruling in Brown v. Board of Education six years earlier, which declared racial segregation in public schools unconstitutional. Despite this ruling, little guidance was provided on how to desegregate schools, and many jurisdictions were slow—often intentionally—to find solutions. As a result, public facilities such as buses, restaurants, theaters, courtrooms, restrooms, and beaches remained largely segregated.  

Motown. Illustration by J.D. Humphreys

"A peaceful revolution for human rights—demanding an end to racial discrimination in all parts of our community life—has strained at the leashes imposed by timid executive leadership." 

- Democratic Presidential Nominee John Fitzgerald Kennedy

However, 1960 also marked the beginning of various sit-ins throughout the segregated South. These protests aimed to challenge unjust Jim Crow laws and enforce the Supreme Court’s decision, which granted all Americans the right to sit at any lunch counter in the United States. Despite facing violent opposition from racists, the protesters remained steadfast and sang powerful songs like “We Shall Overcome” and “Go Tell It on the Mountain” as they were led to police caravans. Music played a significant role in the fight for civil rights from the very beginning, extending beyond the church walls and capturing the spirit of the movement.

In addition, the 1960 presidential race was a significant turning point as a promising candidate who openly supported civil rights and integration was on the ballot. However, the presence of this candidate was met with opposition from some electors in Alabama and Mississippi, with fourteen of them refusing to support John F. Kennedy due to his stance on civil rights. Despite this, Kennedy went on to secure the nomination and ultimately won the election, defeating the incumbent vice president, Richard Nixon.

During the campaign, Kennedy demonstrated his commitment to civil rights by reaching out to Coretta Scott King, the wife of Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. who had been jailed for attempting to integrate a department store lunch counter. Kennedy personally called her to offer his support, while his brother, Robert Kennedy, called Georgia governor Ernest Vandiver to secure King’s release from prison. This gesture earned Kennedy significant respect and support from the Black community and played a crucial role in his victory.

Meanwhile in Detroit, Berry Gordy’s Motown Records, a Black-owned business, was making waves just one year after its establishment with talented artists such as Barrett Strong, Marv Johnson, and Jackie Wilson. Seeing the momentum, Gordy invested borrowed money and followed advice from his family to purchase a photography studio, which he then converted into living quarters, administrative offices, and recording studios. The front of the building, facing West Grand Boulevard, was adorned with bold script lettering spelling out “Hitsville U.S.A.” This sign immediately drew the attention of young singing groups and aspiring solo singers who flocked to the property in hopes of recording for the label and achieving fame.

Aspiring artists with varying levels of talent could be found day after day loitering on the porch of Hitsville, hoping to catch a break and audition for the label. Even if was to contribute hand claps on a track, it was a way into Motown and perhaps cover the bus fare to get there. The building’s distinctive sign was neither subtle nor obtrusive, but it served as a beacon for young talent seeking to make their mark in the music industry.   

“Back in those days, especially if you were Black, nobody was paying you what you should be paid, if they paid you at all,” said songwriter and performer Smokey Robinson. “So Berry decided to start his own record company and gave us that outlet.”

Berry Gordy was a man on a mission in Detroit, constantly on the lookout for fresh talent at talent show and events. If he spotted a young artist with potential, he wasted no time in handing them his business card and instructing them to schedule an audition at Motown. The artist would have to be there on-time and ready to go on the day of audition. Gordy was a busy man, and if his schedule was packed or another meeting ran over, artists were left twiddling their thumbs or melting in anxiety until he was ready.  

“Back in those days, especially if you were Black, nobody was paying you what you should be paid, if they paid you at all. So Berry decided to start his own record company and gave us that outlet.”

- Smokey Robinson

Studio A, also known as the “Snake Pit,” was the nucleus for aspiring artists looking to make it big. Open a staggering 22 hours a day, this former garage was the birthplace of countless Motown hits and losses throughout the 1960s and into the early 1970s. Hundreds of hopeful musicians and singers walked through the door every day, but only the cream of the crop were given a chance to shine. The studio’s distinctive feature was the dangling microphones, known as the “snakes,” that hung from the ceiling. As the singers and musicians warmed up, so did the room itself.  

If you were a young artist offered a contract by Motown or any record label, there was always one daunting question lurking in the back of your mind: would your parents allow it? After all, signing on the dotted line meant putting your life and education on hold to hit the road and become a full-time entertainer. In the prime of Dr. Spock’s parenting revolution, there was no instruction manual or guidebook to ease parental concerns in the uncertain world of show business. The idea of their children joining a music label was often akin to their kids running away to join the circus.  

For young women in the 1960s, the pressure to marry and start a family was often paramount, especially if they didn’t pursue higher education. Show business was a risky proposition for many aspiring female singers, with husbands often hesitant to let their wives hit the road and gallivant with male performers. The allure of fame and fortune had to be balanced against the realities of life, leaving many young artists caught between their dreams and the expectations of their families. Would they take the risk and chase their passion, or settle for a more traditional life path? The decision was never an easy one.  

The Velvelettes. Illustration by J.D. Humphreys

The Velvelettes, a group hailing from Kalamazoo, Michigan, were enthusiastic about signing with Motown to become recording artists. Norma Barbee, was only seventeen and a high school senior at the time, was unable to sign the contract on her own. She had to persuade her parents of the exceptional opportunity at hand. However, her mother was initially hesitant to give her consent. Being an only child, her parents were overly protective, and her mother expressed concerns about the potential lifestyle. She insisted that Norma finish her degree, attend college, and make something of herself. Consequently, she sent an attorney to review the contract at Motown. When the attorney was denied, her mother became enraged.  

Her mother eventually relented but only after being pressured by her daughter’s disappointment and crying. “She said, ‘I’m gonna sign this but you’re gonna become a stripper,’” Barbee recalled. “I’m like, ‘A stripper? No, I’m not, Mom.’” She was crying real tears. And now I realize that she had every right to feel that way. But, she raised me in a way that that was not gonna happen.”

As Motown’s first A & R (Artists & Repetoire) head, Mickey Stevenson was responsible for recruiting and managing musicians and singers. He played a crucial role as the gatekeeper of the label, overseeing auditions that built its roster of insurmountable talent. “The Motown fever had caught on and everybody wanted to be part of it,” Stevenson recalled in his book, The A & R Man. “I had auditions going on every day. I couldn’t just turn the people away; I didn’t have the heart. Like I said, I wasn’t ready for this audition business, my God! There were so many. I handled it the only way I knew how. I made it up as I went along.”

Stevenson’s book offers a humble account of his work at Motown but not fully capture his immense impact and influence on the label’s trajectory as a hit factory and Black-owned company. The A & R Man details that Steve Lever, a talent agent with the William Morris Talent and Literary Agency, is said to have remarked that “Motown was the original American Idol. Randy Jackson, Paula Abdul, and Simon Cowell, all three of them were rolled up into one person: William Mickey Stevenson, the A&R man at Motown.”  

 Stevenson’s journey with Motown began in Benny Mullins’ barbershop, where he first met Berry Gordy. The story of Black entrepreneurship, empowerment, and innovation in America often revolves around specific hubs or safe spaces, such as beauty parlors and barbershops. In Detroit, Mullins was a renowned hair processor who was famous for creating waves “you could float a boat on,” as Stevenson recalls. “Everybody had to have the process, you can’t be in the business [without it].” During that time, Stevenson managed a minor label of his own, Stepp Records, while also singing doo-wop either as a solo act or with the Mello-Tones. He was particularly inspired by the business acumen of Gladys Hampton, who served as the business manager for Lionel Hampton and the Hamptones, of which Stevenson was a member in the 1950s.  

“Motown was the original American Idol. Randy Jackson, Paula Abdul, and Simon Cowell, all three of them were rolled up into one person: William Mickey Stevenson, the A & R man at Motown.”

- Steve Leger, talent agent at the William Morris Talent and Literary Agency

Mullins had a deep understanding of his clients, including Stevenson’s admiration for Jackie Wilson, a musician produced by Gordy. When Mullins introduced Gordy to Stevenson, he played a Jackie Wilson tune on the jukebox and they struck up a conversation. Gordy acknowledged Stevenson’s reputation as a writer and musician handler, promising to speak with him upon his return from a trip to Chicago to finish an album for Wilson. By then, Stevenson was relaxed conversing with Gordy that he later recalled dozing off under the dryer. Months later, Gordy contacted Stevenson, inviting him to come over and discuss the Motown setup. As a result, Stevenson became the head of Motown’s A & R department, earning five dollars a day and an endless supply of chili.    

While the ink on the contracts were still drying at Motown, the Soul music scene in Memphis was already brewing. The city had long been known as a hotbed and confluence for musical talent in the heart of the Bible Belt, with deep roots in the genre.  

Booker T. Jones. Illustration by J.D. Humphreys

“Aretha Franklin, B.B. King, Bobby Bland, Hank Crawford, even Elvis—they’re all from Memphis,” said Booker T. Jones, a Memphis native who would later join one of the most famous studios in Memphis. “There’s something there—it may be in the churches. Maybe it’s because we’re twenty-five miles from the Mississippi state line. It could be the river.”

Jones digs even deeper. “Music to me is a muse like art is a muse. It’s a feeling that can gather itself, onto itself, and accumulate in certain areas of the Earth. I believe music has that capability. I believe that music is begging to be made and that it has the power to create circumstances so that it can be made in its best form. I think music is a supernatural thing like a muse. That’s why you have conglomerations of creative people like in Brooklyn, Detroit, Memphis and not so much in a Cleveland or a St. Louis. I believe it gathers itself.”

Satellite Records was founded in 1957 by two white siblings and business partners, Jim Stewart and Estelle Axton. After founding the business in Memphis, Axton went to great lengths to obtain an Ampex 350 console recorder that the studio urgently required, mortgaging her home for it.

Despite approaching various individuals and institutions such as the bank, her father, and other business people, Axton was unable to secure a loan. She recounted, “And all the time, my husband was sitting on the sidelines saying we were going to wind up in a tent.” Eventually, Axton discovered that refinancing their house was the only way to raise the necessary funds. As a result, they mortgaged everything, including their furniture.

The investment significantly improved the sound quality of the company’s recordings and enabled more efficient capture of audio, thereby giving them a competitive edge in the thriving Memphis music scene. However, despite the new technology, all musicians and instruments had to be recorded simultaneously during a session. In the event of a mistake, which was all too common, the entire recording process had to be restarted. Recording sessions were often arduous and unpredictable, particularly when dealing with logistical challenges like scheduling and studio availability. Consequently, successfully nailing a take on the first or second attempt was a rare feat and handled with great care.  

“I think music is a supernatural thing like a muse.”

- Booker T. Jones

The next step required Axton to refinance her home yet again. A record shop and recording studio was set up in a converted movie theater on McLemore Avenue. The theater’s sloped floor confined the acoustics and became a signature element of the company’s sound. Partitions created a control room where the screen had been. Open for business, Satellite Records caught the attention of the Memphis music community and attracted racially-integrated bands and staff.  

The integrated business structure of Satellite Records was virtually unprecedented in a Memphis that was still deeply divided along racial lines. In fact, Black artists were often unable to even sit at the same restaurant table as white music executives when it came to discussing business matters. As a result, meetings were typically held in hotel rooms, which were reserved by white executives to provide a safe space. These meetings, which could last for hours, were fraught with risk, as ordering room service could raise suspicions of unlawful activity or miscegenation, often with the police called. Despite these challenges, Satellite Records was rapidly establishing itself as a force to be reckoned with, thanks to its commitment to integration and innovation. 

Stewart recounted that when he and his colleagues entered the Satellite Records studio, they felt as though they had been transported to another world. This was in stark contrast to the highly-segregated and hypocritical city they found themselves in. In the early days of the company, Stewart met with members of the NAACP, who were understandably suspicious of his intentions and wanted to know more about him and his commitment to treating Black people fairly. McLemore Avenue was a symbol of the racial divide in Memphis, but at Satellite Records, people of different races came together to create and appreciate music.  

Axton’s record shop, located next to the theater’s former concession stand, not only generated immediate income by selling the popular hits of the day but also served as a focus group backroom where buyer behavior and trends were observed. According to Axton, the shop facilitated discussion on what made a record sell and enabled analysis of successful records on other labels, which provided valuable lessons to writers in the studios. This process contributed to the cultivation of numerous talented writers who possessed a keen understanding of what would sell. Axton’s constant interactions with customers and each record sale provided her with valuable insights, allowing her to identify what needed to be created. She also frequently shared unfinished tracks with loyal customers and incorporated their feedback into the final product, even if it didn’t result in an immediate sale.  

“If a person can hear a record and it gives him a little tingle or something, this means money because it actually touches the person that listens to it. Makes him go out and spend a buck to buy a record.”

- Booker T. Jones

“Feel means money-emotions,” said Jones. “What else does a person really have? What else can he hold on to but his own emotions? That is what we exploit on records. If a person can hear a record and it gives him a little tingle or something, this means money because it actually touches the person that listens to it. Makes him go out and spend a buck to buy a record.”

According to Jones, without the record shop there would have been no Stax Records. Jones himself was a frequent visitor to the shop every Saturday and after school, where he would spend at least three hours listening to music. He recalls only buying one record a week, just enough to be allowed back in, but he would linger behind the curtain to listen to the music being created. The shop was a significant influence on Jones as a young kid, and he attributes his love for music to this time spent there.  

Stewart did his part to generate demand and attract customers to the record shop. He recognized the value of his proximity to the two Black radio stations in Memphis, and he cultivated relationships with them to promote his records. He frequently visited the stations, providing the disc jockeys with a test copy of a new record. If the test record generated interest among listeners, they would visit the Satellite Record Shop inquiring about the song they heard on WDIA or WLOK. Estelle Axton was always prepared for these inquiries.  

Carla and Rufus Thomas. Illustration by J.D. Humphreys

Rufus Thomas, a former disc jockey at WDIA, was already a well-known name when the station’s amplified transmitter broadcasted to over a million Black households. In 1960, Thomas, who was 43 years old, teamed up with his 17-year-old daughter, Carla, to record “Cause I Love You,” which further propelled him to stardom. This catchy tune is highlighted by a poignant horn section, captivating piano riffs, and well-time pauses that shift the focus from Rufus’s wailing to Carla’s gentler voice, ultimately resulting in a stunning duet. The song’s intimate storyline revolves around the trouble of an insensitive man (Rufus), whose womanizing tendencies have destroyed every relationship he’s ever had. He pledges to change his ways and stop cheating, while the woman (Carla), his current love interest and victim of his wrongdoing, expresses her anguish. Despite the turmoil, they both vow to remain together because they love each other and believe they’ll live happily ever after. The duet is a charming fable for Southern gentlemen, urging them avoid unfaithful behavior and instead choose chivalry and monogamy. “Cause I Love You” by Rufus & Carla became Satellite Records’ first regional hit and was later picked up by Atlantic Records’ Atco subsidiary for national distribution. The hit record sold almost 40,000 copies by the time Carla competed high school that year.   

LISTEN TO “CAUSE I LOVE YOU” BY CARLA AND RUFUS

Later that same year, Carla showcased her talents once again with “Gee Whiz (Look At His Eyes),” a song that she wrote at the age of 15 to express her profound admiration and love for a specific man. According to Carla, she drew inspiration from Brenda Lee’s music, as well as Teresa Brewer’s “A Sweet Old Fashioned Girl,” which she sang as a solo in one of the groups she performed with. She also mentioned Frankie Lymon’s “Why Do Fools Fall In Love” as another example of the kind of music she loved and was accustomed to writing. “That was my era,” Carla said, “so I wrote like that.”

Convinced that his daughter had a potential hit on her hands, Rufus took the song to Vee-Jay Records in Chicago. While the label expressed interest, they ultimately failed to follow up on it, leading Rufus to return to Memphis and proceed with the recording. Upon its release that Fall, the song failed to garner much attention from fans. However, things changed when Atlantic Records picked it up for distribution in early 1961. "Gee Whiz (Look At His Eyes)" quickly climbed to number five on the R&B chart and an impressive number ten on the U.S. Pop chart, becoming the company's first national hit record. Carla, now a freshman at Tennessee A & I University in Nashville at the time, quickly became a recording star, booking appearances on American Bandstand and various other press engagements. 

LISTEN TO “GEE WHIZ (LOOK AT HIS EYES)” BY CARLA THOMAS

Carla would later note her surprise with the record’s success, which she described as a young-sounding, romantic, and expressing what many people wanted to say at that age.  

Later that summer, the Mar-Keys, who were the first house band for Satellite, recorded "Last Night," a single driven by a funky organ and saxophone sound. Upon the song's release, Axton convinced the group, previously known as the Royal Spades, to change their name to the Mar-Keys, which was a wise decision. "It just happened," said Wayne Jackson, the Mar-Keys' trumpeter. "Everything fit together perfectly, and we had a good feeling about the song. It was released as an instrumental and became a huge hit."

Although "Last Night" was an instrumental, Floyd Newman added the lyrics "Ooh, last night!" before the saxophone solo and "Ooh, yeah" after it. These lyrics gave listeners a way to identify the otherwise uncredited and unreleased song on local radio. According to Axton, people started visiting the shop looking for the instrumental after hearing the lyrics on the radio and would say, "I don't know what it is, but it goes, 'Ooh, last night.'"

"Last Night" went from being a popular unreleased song on local radio to a regional and national hit, reaching number three on the Pop chart and number two on the R&B charts. The sudden success led to a rush to press copies. 

“When we put that record out, it exploded like nothing had exploded before,” Axton told author Peter Guralnick years later. “I sold two thousand one by one over my counter. They certified a million, it was a national hit, and I’ve never been as proud of a record in my life.”

“Last Night” featured contributions from Black studio musicians Floyd Newman and Gilbert Caple, who played on the record but did not join the white members of the Mar-Keys on tour. During their first live performance, the audience was initially taken aback to see a group of white musicians playing such soulful music. “The announcer said, ‘The Mar-Keys!’ and there was a lot of applause as the curtain opened and then everybody in the audience just kind of sat, and looked,” recalled Don Nix, Mar-Keys saxophonist. “And you could hear throughout the audience: ‘White boys! Oh Lord!’ But the Mar-Keys were a really good band at that time. And we destroyed that audience.”

LISTEN TO “LAST NIGHT” BY THE MAR-KEYS

Satellite Records, riding high on its new fame and success, recognized it was time for a name change. Similar to Hitsville U.S.A. (Motown), the owners arranged lettering to spell out “Soulsville, U.S.A.” on the theater’s marquee. However, the final name was finally decided in 1961 by combining the first two letters of each of the co-owners’ last names – “ST” from Stewart and “AX” from Axton. This portmanteau also served also a homonym as the purpose of the record shop and label was to get people from all different backgrounds to buy stacks of hit records. That notion was further reinforced in the logo design featuring a side view of messy stacked vinyl with two records on each side springing from the stack. The name Stax also felt very factory-like, as if the stacks of records billowed music into the Memphis atmosphere.  

Jim Stewart and Estelle Axton. Illustration by J.D. Humphreys

Stewart, realizing that he had taken on more than he could handle, had to rethink his career at the bank. According to Jones, "Jim had to transform himself into a record man." Even though they were still producing hit records, he was working at the bank during the day and coming to the studio in the late afternoon wearing his bank suit. He would loosen his tie and head into the control room to work on music. 17  

 Seven hundred miles north in Detroit, Gordy insisted on a process very similar to the automotive production and assembly lines he left behind to establish Motown. Having the right people in place meant women presided over various departments. In the 1960s, women in leadership roles for companies were not common, but Gordy was breaking the mold and setting his own rules.  

“Motown was a great place to work if you were a woman,” remarked Suzanne de Passe who joined Motown in 1967 to later develop the Jackson Five and spearheaded several major creative endeavors for the company. “He [Berry] was way ahead of his time, putting us in positions of authority.”  

Billie Jean Brown was an integral part of Motown's success as she headed the quality control team. Her meticulousness and importance in the company were highly regarded, and she was responsible for selecting the records that had the potential to sell well. If a record failed to meet her standards, it was unlikely to see the light of day. Every Friday, Brown's selects were reviewed in meetings to decide which ones would be released the following week. Before joining Motown full-time, Brown edited the school paper at Detroit's Cass Tech and started working part-time at Motown in 1960, where she assisted with press releases. She became the head of quality control at the company in 1963, a position that played a crucial role in Motown's success.

“Billie Jean was feared by almost every producer in the room because they knew she had my ear,” Gordy said of Brown who held the position of head of quality control at Motown for 19 years before leaving to pursue a law degree. “She had as keen a sense of what was a hit as anyone I knew. And she knew it. That’s why she sat there like a diva in the last act waiting for her solo. She was expressionless, nothing moving except her squinting eyes, which darted back and forth from one hopeful producer to another as if to say ‘Yes, I hold your fate in my hands.’”

This focus group was comprised of administrative staff and secretaries, top talent (such as Smokey Robinson who was permitted to write hits), Gordy family and friends, and even the occasional stranger off the street. Brown oversaw the process, counting the hands raised in favor and closely observing the often-heated debates between executives, songwriters, and producers who especially had skin in the game. 

“They had three or four different songs that they’d play and we would listen to them,” recalled Rosalind Ashford of Martha and the Vandellas. “And it depended on what they felt about it because a lot of the time they’d ask them, ‘If you had five dollars, would you go buy a sandwich or buy this record?’ Whatever they said would determine if it was released.”

In the recording studio, recordings were evaluated through a simulated car radio, recognizing that people would be listening on their car stereos and transistor radios. Although Gordy lacked musical literacy, not ever learning how to read notes or play an instrument, he effectively controlled his artists and staff by running the business and setting the production process.  

As a successful Black entrepreneur, Gordy's rise to power came with risks and rumors. Speculations began to circulate that Motown was in cahoots with the Mafia as the Gordy family became socialites in Detroit. These rumors became so pervasive that the FBI called him in for questioning. “I never talked to the Mafia, but the rumor was so strong that I was part of the Mafia that one time the F.B.I. called me down to their office,” Gordy said years later. He was understandably worried about being questioned by the FBI's organized crime division, but he maintained his innocence. “They asked me if I was in the Mafia, and I said no. Then they took me to a board and showed me pictures and charts of the Detroit Mafia families. They said, ‘We’ve been studying you for years, and we cannot find you in any of these charts or families.’ And they said either I was the smartest person they knew or I had no ties to the Mafia.”

Motown's early strategy for achieving "crossover" success involved keeping Black artists' photos off record covers to reduce bias at the point of purchase or airplay. By doing this, records had a better chance of gaining popularity on the Pop charts, which had both Black and white audiences. This approach, coupled with the assembly line production approach and talent acquisition, helped Motown become a groundbreaking and influential force in the music industry. 

“I didn’t have pictures of Black artists on the record covers until they became big hits.”

- Berry Gordy

“At Motown, I hired a white salesman to go to the South,” Gordy said. “I didn’t have pictures of Black artists on the record covers until they became big hits. The Isleys [Isley Brothers] had a cover with two white people on the cover. Smokey’s Mickey’s Monkey had a monkey on the cover. No one knew or cared; they thought it was brilliant.”

During the early years of Motown, the sleeve notes, also known as liner notes, were written in-house, without celebrity endorsements. However, at the end of 1965, Motown had Sammy Davis Jr. write the liner notes for Supremes at the Copa, which was a rare occasion. Scott St. James, who turned out to be a pseudonym for Ralph Seltzer, a member of Gordy's legal team, wrote eighteen album liner notes from 1964 through 1966, including Stevie at the Beach for Stevie Wonder and How Sweet It Is To Be Loved By You for Marvin Gaye. Other Motown executives such as Barney Ales and publicist Al Abrams also contributed liner notes for Eddie Holland and the Marvelettes, respectively. 

After gaining traction with the most influential radio stations, starting with Detroit and expanding across the country, successful singles would chart on both the Billboard Magazine Pop chart (the "white chart") and R&B (the "Black chart") and maintain their position for weeks or even months. It wasn't until mid-1961 that Motown began featuring artist photos on single's sleeve artwork. 

L to R: Annette Beard, Martha Reeves, Rosalind Ashford (Martha & The Vandellas). Illustration by J.D. Humphreys

Martha Reeves of Martha & The Vandellas credits the success of Motown to the dedication of disc jockeys who often went against program directors to play their music. Reeves says, “We have a lot of the jocks to thank for. They were the first rappers that I ever knew, and they’d talk on our records. They’d have little jargon that they make you remember the songs by. We had a lot of help from the deejays in our early days. We used to do record hops for them and we’d go work for them for nothing. They’d get a hall and rent it, charge admission, and we’d go sing for them for free. And they’d play our records all year. It was a good exchange.”

Even outside of Motown, artists knew consideration for airplay depended on the quality and smash potential even if it was not immediately apparent by the label or artist. “To get your record played by this cat [disc jockey], it’s good stuff,” said “Little Anthony” Gourdine from Little Anthony and the Imperials. “And if he liked it, he laid on it. I used to hear jockeys say they like the song—if I didn’t like, they liked it. Well, then it must be okay, so then I would like it.”

“A great awakening for me, personally, was when we started to get letters from the white kids in the Detroit suburbs, places where Blacks couldn’t live at that time. They would say that they had all your records but their parents didn’t know because then they couldn’t have them and that they loved Motown.”

- Smokey Robinson

Gordy had a clear vision that Motown’s music would cross over, not just metaphorically, to broader audiences and the feedback he received local communities confirmed his belief. “A great awakening for me, personally, was when we started to get letters from the white kids in the Detroit suburbs, places where Blacks couldn’t live at that time. They would say that they had all your records but their parents didn’t know because then they couldn’t have them and that they loved Motown,” Smokey Robinson said. “I always looked at Berry as some sort of a racial relationship mender or something through music. Motown crossed a lot of racial barriers prior to that time had not been done.”  

Gordy added, “When I started in music, it was for cops and robbers, the rich and poor, the Black and white, the Jews and the Gentiles. When I went to white radio stations to get records played, they would laugh at me. They thought I was trying to bring Black music to white people, to ‘cross over,’ and I said, ‘Wait a minute—it’s not really Black music. It’s music by Black stars.’ I refused to be categorized. They called my music all kinds of stuff: rhythm and blues, soul… And I said, ‘Look, my music is pop. Pop means popular. If you sell a million records, you’re popular.”  

In the past, radio stations, especially those catering to white audiences, often hesitated or outright refused to play music by Black artists. To combat this, record labels and disc jockeys engaged in illegal payola arrangements, which involved bribes or payments in exchange for airplay or promotion of a record. Payola could come in the form of unearned credit or take more illicit forms, such as all-expenses-paid vacations, sex, alcohol, and cash. In the 1950s, payola prosecutions were often used as a means to hinder the entry of new players into the music industry, as independent record companies and music publishers relied on payola to promote Rock & Roll on the radio. 

While payola was generally considered to be dishonest pay-for-play, it did have some positive effects: it encouraged cultural diversity and gave Black artists a better chance to succeed. Moreover, disc jockeys were less likely to indulge in personal or racial biases when they were profiting from playing Black artists. However, the traditional music establishment saw the rise of teen demographics intrigued by R&B and Rock & Roll as a threat to societal norms, and sought to curtail the practice of payola. Interestingly, payola was widely accepted in the 1930s when it was used to promote white artists in the Swing Era, as this form of music was considered "respectable." However, with the rise of R&B and Rock & Roll, public perception of payola changed.

Critics of R&B and Rock & Roll took aim at white entertainers, such as Dick Clark and Alan Freed, who frequently promoted and supported Black artists through their radio and television programs. In 1959, concerns over payola had grown to such an extent that the Congressional Payola Investigations were established, which led to Clark and Freed being summoned to testify a year later. Clark admitted to holding ownership stakes in 33 different record labels, distributors, and manufacturers, with particular attention paid to his earnings through Jamie Records and a $31,700 profit made on a $125 investment through artist Duane Eddy. Additionally, Clark earned royalties as a credited "songwriter" on approximately 150 pop songs. Despite the scandal, Clark survived with a reprimand because he divested himself of ownership interests in all of his music industry holdings. Ultimately, the payola scandal had little long-term impact on Clark's career.

Freed, on the other hand, faced more challenges. He was not as cooperative and forthcoming as Clark. During the hearings, it became clear that Freed had multiple conflicts of interest, such as taking songwriting credits and receiving part of the song's royalties. For example, he had promoted Chuck Berry's "Maybellene" on his show, which put him in a position to increase his royalties. Harvey Fuqua of the Moonglows tried to defend Freed, claiming that Freed had co-written the song "Sincerely," where his name was also credited. However, Freed's role as a radio and television host in promoting the song was still seen as a conflict of interest. During his testimony, Freed admitted to accepting "gifts of friendship" from record labels but maintained that they did not influence his decisions regarding airplay. 

In 1960, payola was officially made illegal. However, Freed's testimony that he received songwriting credits proved to have severe consequences. He lost his radio and television show and eventually pleaded guilty to two charges of commercial bribery. As a result, he was fined $300 and received a suspended sentence. Unfortunately, Freed's career was completely destroyed, and he passed away in 1965 at the young age of 43 due to uremia and cirrhosis caused by alcoholism. 

Prominent disc jockeys, both Black and white, who promoted R&B and Rock & Roll were also targeted and vilified. One such figure was Hal Jackson, who became a host on WINX in Washington DC in 1939 and hosted three daily shows on three different New York stations in the fifties, making him one of the first Black disc jockeys to reach a large white audience. Jackson's social influence and commitments to civil rights went beyond the airwaves. In 1949, while hosting a television variety show in Washington, he organized a picket of stores on Connecticut Avenue that sold to Black customers but denied them access to dressing rooms and restrooms, resulting in a change in store policies. However, in the early sixties, Jackson was forced off the air for a period of time due to payola allegations, which had consequential effects even when they were ultimately proved unfounded. 

“So here I was, Mr. Big Shot, cleaning buildings at night so I could take care of my family.”

- Hal Jackson, host on WINX

“So here I was, Mr. Big Shot, cleaning buildings at night so I could take care of my family,” Jackson remarked in an interview before his death in 2012.

Gordy was acutely aware that accusations of payola could have dire consequences for his newly-formed company. As a result, he was particularly concerned about the frequency with which disc jockeys played Tamla Records releases. “I did not believe in payola for Motown when people were fighting for my records,” he said. “Once a disc jockey played ‘Shop Around,’ the phones lit up.; that’s how potent it was.”

Gordy wasn't one to let obstacles or intimidation stand in his way. Despite the risk of payola accusations, he charged ahead and created Motown Records in 1960. But Gordy didn't stop there. He knew he had a wealth of talent at his fingertips and wanted to showcase them all. So, he established several more subsidiary labels, each with its own unique focus. Junior Walker and the All Stars, Jimmy Ruffin, and Gladys Knight and the Pips found their home on the Soul subsidiary label. Gordy refused to let Motown be pigeonholed into one genre of music. He was always pushing the boundaries, looking for that perfect sound that would capture the essence of his vision. In fact, in 1964, Gordy revealed to the British press that the sound he was striving for was none other than "soul."

In the fierce competition of the music industry, Stax Records refused to be left behind. In 1961, it partnered with Atlantic Records on national distribution and launched its own subsidiary label called Volt. This move was a strategic one for Stax, as it aimed to expand its reach and attract even more Black talent to its roster. However, Stax was not the only label vying for Black artists. Major record labels such as Atlantic, ABC-Paramount Records, Cameo, Chess, Scepter, and Decca were also on the hunt for the next big thing in Black music.   

Back in the day, three-minute songs were all the rage - not because of the artistry or storytelling, but because any longer and they wouldn't fit on a single. These seven-inch vinyls, affectionately known as 45s, could hold one song on each side and were played at a speedy 45 rotations per minute. The A-side was the star of the show, the one intended for airplay and hopefully, to become a chart-topping hit. But the B-side, or "flip-side," was often treated as an afterthought - a place to stash songs of lesser importance, or even just an instrumental track. Phil Spector, a notorious white record producer who worked with Black artists at Philles Records, was particularly sneaky about this. He'd stuff the B-side with a lackluster instrumental, banking on the fact that disc jockeys would only play the A-side. But every once in a while, a B-side song would hit big, stealing the spotlight from its A-side counterpart.

Motown founder Berry Gordy had a tight hold on his artists and songwriters, meticulously scrutinizing every potential hit song. Known as “The Motown Sound” or “The Sound of Young America,” Gordy demanded that the music did not reflect the political turmoil of the civil rights movement, despite it being a daily struggle for many of the artists themselves. The fear was that any overt message could alienate the white audience and potentially lead to missed crossover opportunity or financial ruin. However, the success of Black artists at Motown would eventually become a powerful symbol of progress and even be adopted as the soundtrack for the Black Power movement, a testament to the power of music and its ability to inspire change.

Stax and Motown were not merely rivals vying for chart dominance and artist acquisition; they also found inspiration in each other's successes. In contrast to Motown's distinctive sound, Memphis Soul was renowned for its funky, stylish, and sultry qualities, employing melodious horn riffs, bass, organ, and drums. While Motown's music was often considered conducive to singalongs, Stax's music had a unique ability to turn the listener into the singer, according to many music critics.   

“It wasn’t Chicago, and it wasn’t New York, and it sure wasn’t Detroit. “It was a Southern sound, a below-the-Bible-Belt sound. It was righteous and nasty. Which to our way of thinking was pretty close to life itself.” 

- Steve Cropper, lead guitarist of Booker T. & the MG’s

“It wasn’t Chicago, and it wasn’t New York, and it sure wasn’t Detroit,” said Steve Cropper, original lead white guitarist of the Stax integrated group Booker T. & the MG’s. “It was a Southern sound, a below-the-Bible-Belt sound. It was righteous and nasty. Which to our way of thinking was pretty close to life itself.” 

When compared to Motown, Cropper said at the time: “Ours [Stax] has more of a blues root than Motown does. All of our records are done in one session. Everything is cut together. It’s all done on one track. We only use 4-tracks when we’re mixing album songs and stereo. We’ll overdub drum beats, tambourines, and handclapping. The major labels are forced into this because they have to have the best possible quality. Things have to be technically perfect—note for note, the way it’s written. If we overdubbed on of our artists on a Motown instrumental track, they’d clash. The artist wouldn’t be doing things that fit with what would be going on underneath.” 

Stax Records was a laboratory of musical experimentation, with executives and studio staff constantly pushing the boundaries to find a fresh, innovative sound. Unlike Motown, which carefully selected its talent, Stax had a more relaxed approach. Aspiring artists and amateur groups could walk in off the street and audition on Saturday mornings. This open-door policy was both a blessing and a curse. While it occasionally caused distractions, the execs at Stax saw it as a way to identify potential stars and connect with the local community.  

“Motown was much more, much more artist oriented,” said Larry Dodson of the Bar-Kays that started at Stax as a studio session group. “They were the glitzy, glamor company, you know. Their profile was to keep you just suave and debonair, which is cool. And Stax Records was more of the greens and ham hocks and cornbread kind of situation. There was an earthiness at Stax. We were more concerned about what was on the record, how it made you feel.”

In a stroke of fate, Otis Redding, the soulful crooner that would become a legend, found his way into Stax Records in 1962. But it wasn't through the front door. He was actually working as a road manager and driver for Johnny Jenkins and the Pinetoppers at the time. Initially overlooked, Redding had to convince Stax to give him a chance to audition. 

Otis Redding. Illustration by J.D. Humphreys

According to Cropper, Redding spent the day in the corner of the studio, waiting for his chance to shine. "Every once in a while he’d say, ‘Man, I sure would like to cut a song,'" Cropper recalled. After they finished recording Jenkins, the team decided to take a chance on Redding and see what he could do. He had a song called "These Arms of Mine" that he wanted to try out, and with that, the magic began. 

LISTEN TO “THESE ARMS OF MINE” BY OTIS REDDING

It's hard to imagine what might have happened if Redding hadn't spoken up that day. He could have remained unnoticed, his incredible talent hidden from the world. But instead, he took a chance, and Stax Records became his home.  

The Artists and Repertoire (A & R) division played a crucial role in turning aspiring musicians into chart-topping stars and maintaining their success. Both Stax and Motown shared a common goal of creating music that would resonate with listeners and propel their artists to stardom through airplay, press coverage, TV appearances, and chart-topping sales. Just as he used an assembly line approach to produce hits, Gordy started an assembly line for singers and artists. "They would come in one door, unknown, and then when they came out of another door, they had a hit record, sometimes, number one, and it was great.” 

Motown's early success showed that it had the potential to become a powerhouse in the music industry, not just for Black artists but for a national audience. Berry Gordy knew that in order to achieve this, he needed to expand his team and bring in talented individuals regardless of race. This decision was met with criticism from some members of the Black community who felt that Gordy was betraying his own people by hiring whites. 

“I make the money, it's my money. I do what I want with it.”

- Berry Gordy

When asked about this, Gordy defended his decision by saying, "I make the money, it's my money. I do what I want with it." He also emphasized that his priority was not to cater exclusively to Black audiences, but to create music that could appeal to a wider demographic. "Black people have shown a lack of understanding of what I'm doing as a general market businessman," he said. "They say, 'Why do you hire this white man, or why this or that?' Because this white man can do what I've hired him for better than I can do it." 

In fact, Motown’s sales department was all-white up until 1969. Barney Ales joined Motown in 1960 to lead sales and promotion having worked at Warner Bros. Records and a Detroit distributor that worked with Motown. Ales carried around a mystique around Detroit to the point, more jokingly than seriously, some suspected he had ties to the Mafia because of his intimidating appearance and his ability to forge business relationships with radio, retail, and distributors. His hefty build, slicked-back graying hair and later with matching goatee, was an uncommon look for a businessman of his stature in the sixties but not so uncommon as the son of a Sicilian immigrant to Detroit. Gordy knew Ales’ nontraditional demeanor and burliness was advantageous for business. Payments from distributors may have arrived a bit quicker with Ales proving his business prowess and his ancestry. 

Distributors marveled at the unprecedented success of Motown, as hit records kept rolling out one after another thanks to the company's groundbreaking "assembly-line" approach. Motown's numerous subsidiary labels gave Barney Ales, the sales and promotion chief, the freedom to strategically match each distributor with the next potential hit record. Ales' industry clout was well-established and his towering presence in photographs beside Gordy became a recurring sight throughout the decade and into the seventies. Ales' influence only grew when he rejoined the company as one of three presidents, cementing his position as a true titan of the music industry. 

In 1969, Miller London made history as the first Black regional sales manager to join the Motown sales department. However, his appointment was not without its challenges. While on a business trip to New Orleans during Mardi Gras, London encountered racial discrimination from a white female concierge at a hotel. Despite having a confirmation, the concierge refused to give him a room, tearing up the document in front of him. Only after London convinced her to call the distributor who made the booking did he finally secure a room. The distributor had previously arranged for lunch at the prominent creole restaurant Brennan’s on Royal Street. When the concierge at the restaurant offered the distributor his usual table, he demanded a table in the back. London would later learn that after lunch the distributor placed a phone call back to Motown sales director Phil Jones asking “Why’d you send this little nigger down here?” According to London, Phil responded, “’You like Motown records?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘You make a lot of money selling Motown records?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Then you need to get used to seeing that little nigger.’” 

Motown's management style was all-encompassing, with signed artists subject to strict management and recording contracts. The label oversaw every aspect of the artist's image, from their wardrobe to their publicity, grooming, stagecraft, transportation, and tour schedules. Additionally, the artists' paychecks were meticulously itemized, with expenses such as studio time, equipment use, and even trivial expenses being deducted. 

LISTEN TO “GREETINGS (THIS IS UNCLE SAM)” BY THE VALADIERS

Motown, the iconic record label, wasn't just a platform for African American talent, but also a home for a few white artists and vocal groups. The Valadiers, a white doo-wop group, were the first to sign with the label. Legend has it that Gordy's friend and R&B legend Jackie Wilson recommended the group. The Valadiers had a moderate hit with their song "Greetings (This is Uncle Sam)" on the Miracle label in 1961, followed by two more releases on Gordy's new subsidiary in 1962. Interestingly, the song went against Gordy's rule of avoiding political stances, as it expressed frustration about being drafted into the army and leaving loved ones behind. However, the fact that the group was white might have lessened the controversy. The song climbed to number 89 on the pop chart, and Gordy's calculated move to show diversity in his company paid off. 

In the Motown roster, the groups were mixed, but the members within each group were generally of the same race, with the exception of the Funk Brothers, who were the in-house session musicians. Regardless of race, all groups aimed to appeal to the white market and stay true to "The Sound of Young America," which, for Gordy, meant music with "rats, roaches, soul, guts, and love." 

“We here at Motown are very proud to be one of the first companies to have incorporated the white element without compromising our standards of excellence,” Berry Gordy would later remark to a white crowd of distributors, news media, and Detroit retail community in 1968. The crowd erupted in laughter, which may have been due to the timing of Gordy's remark, as Detroit had just experienced race riots the previous month. 

At the dawn of Motown, Berry Gordy was on the hunt for a game-changing crossover hit. And when it finally arrived in 1960, it was in the form of The Miracles' "Shop Around." This chart-topper not only became Motown's first-ever number one hit on the Billboard R&B singles chart, but it also soared to number two on the coveted Billboard Hot 100. As if that wasn't enough, "Shop Around" also snagged the honor of being the first-ever million-selling record for Motown.  

Smokey Robinson. Illustration by J.D. Humphreys

The Miracles were led by singer and songwriter Smokey Robinson, along with his wife Claudette Rogers, her cousin Bobby Rogers, Pete Moore, and Ronnie White. “Shop Around” had been released for a few weeks when Gordy’s gut instincts kicked in. He began to doubt if the original recording, a Blues-driven mellow style release, would achieve commercial appeal outside of Detroit. Gathering Smokey Robinson and the group at 3 a.m., they got to work on a new, more pop-driven version of the track. It was a gamble, but one that paid off handsomely as the song became an instant national sensation. 

LISTEN TO “SHOP AROUND” BY THE MIRACLES

“Shop Around” was a defining moment for the early days of the “Motown Sound” and a testament to the label's winning formula. Its catchy tune and relatable lyrics attracted listeners from all walks of life who rushed to their local record stores to snag a copy of the single (A-side “Shop Around,” B-side “Who’s Lovin’ You”). The song follows lead singer Smokey Robinson as he relays his mother's cautionary advice to a young man not to rush into love and to value his freedom. With its sweet and maternal message, “Shop Around” became a hit and resonated with audiences of all races, offering sound advice for anyone navigating the dating scene. 

LISTEN TO “WHO’S LOVIN’ YOU” BY THE MIRACLES

The B-side track of "Who's Lovin' You" by The Miracles only achieved a modest level of success. Nevertheless, other Motown groups recognized the song's potential and went on to create their own versions in the hope of surpassing its chart success. 

Mastering the art of crossover hits, as exemplified by the success of "Shop Around," was not just a matter of artistic achievement for Motown; it was a ticket to big bucks. By crafting love ballads that resonated with both Black and white listeners, the label created a rare common ground between two communities often seen as worlds apart. This shared ground provided a unique cultural bridge between races, proving that music could bring people together in ways that politics and social conventions could not.

In 1961, a recording studio emerged in rural Alabama, adding another player to the emerging music scene. Fame Studios, short for Florence Alabama Music Enterprises, was founded by Rick Hall, a white owner who hired a diverse team of musicians to work as session players. The team's racial integration was not always well-received outside the studio, as people raised eyebrows when they saw them together grabbing food and drinks throughout Muscle Shoals before and after recording sessions. However, their collaborative efforts inside the studio proved to be a successful formula.

“I was somewhat frightened from time to time when we’d go and buy dinner for a half dozen Black people,” said Hall in an interview for the Muscle Shoals documentary. This was due to the fact that most restaurants, in compliance with the Jim Crow laws, did not allow Black and white customers to dine together.

“I was somewhat frightened from time to time when we’d go and buy dinner for a half dozen Black people.”

- Rick Hall, founder of Fame Studios

Indeed, Fame Studios was in the thick of the Jim Crow era. In 1963, George Wallace, a staunch supporter of segregation, was elected governor of Alabama, a state that became a battlefield for civil rights activists. In his inaugural speech, Wallace famously declared, "Segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever," proudly pushing back against the growing movement for desegregation in the South. His words would come to symbolize the resistance of many white Southerners to racial equality and the struggles of the Civil Rights Movement. 

The stark contrast between the lively studio atmosphere and the dreary reality outside the walls of Fame Studios was not lost on anyone. Black sharecroppers could be seen toiling away in cotton fields a stone's throw away from the music being made. When the legendary Wilson Pickett arrived at the studio for a recording session, he couldn't help but remark to owner Rick Hall about the stark dichotomy he saw outside the car window on the drive from the airport. Upon meeting the all-white rhythm section, later nicknamed the "Swampers," Pickett was taken aback by the unexpected sight. 

Fame Studios scored big early in the music industry, thanks to early hits like “Steal Away” by Jimmy Hughes and Arthur Alexander’s “You Better Move On.” Word of their success spread, and soon record producers were eager to send their artists to Muscle Shoals to record hit songs like their predecessors. The studio quickly became a melting pot of talent and creativity in the midst of the impoverished South. 

Sam Cooke. Illustration by J.D. Humphreys

Sam Cooke was a trailblazer in the music industry as one of the first Black artists to not only own the rights to his music, but also manage the business side of his career. In 1959, he formed SAR (Sam, Alex, & Roy) Records with business partner J.W. Alexander and Silas Roy Crain, the founder and manager of the Soul Stirrers and Cooke's mentor. When Crain was later booted out, SAR was renamed to Sam and Alex Records and operated out of a small office in the Warner Building on Hollywood Boulevard, with just enough space for two desks, a piano, and recording equipment. Cooke and Alexander even discussed the possibility of signing a teenage Aretha Franklin, who was transitioning into secular music and already admired Cooke. 

The music industry had a long history of exploiting Black talent and promoting unfair practices, but Cooke had a different vision for his own music career and for the Black artists around him. Having witnessed the industry's darker side, Cooke wanted to provide equal opportunities and resources for other Black artists, and he did so by channeling his entrepreneurial spirit and artistic talent into SAR Records. Alexander, Cooke's business partner, explained that they aimed to give young Black artists the same production quality as major companies, without cutting any corners or treating it as a mere training ground. They wanted to give back to the community. Conveniently, SAR's offices were located across from Imperial Records, which housed Ricky Nelson, Slim Whitman, and Fats Domino. Cooke's label roster included The Valentinos (including Bobby Womack), Mel Carter, Johnnie Morisette, Billy Preston, younger brother L.C. Cooke, The Simms Twins, and Johnnie Taylor, who also sang lead with the Soul Stirrers. Almost every artist on the label had a Gospel background, creating a family-like atmosphere. 

SAR served as a trailblazing example for Black artists to not only focus on their musical performances, but also to take control of the business side of their careers. With Cooke as the driving force behind the venture, he established Kags Music Co. (BMI) and Malloy Music Co. (ASCAP) to handle publishing and other aspects of the business. The studio space at SAR became a creative laboratory for Cooke to experiment with his own sound and collaborate with other artists. 

SAR produced an impressive total of 57 R&B singles and four LPs, not including the albums and singles released on the related pop label Derby Records with artists like Billy Preston and Mel Carter. The Sims Twins, who originally sang background on Cooke’s “Cupid,” achieved great success with their hit “Soothe Me” in October 1961, which stayed on the charts for 22 weeks and reached number four. Initially, Cooke had intended for them to only sing background vocals, but after hearing the studio tape with their singing, he decided against recording his own voice over theirs.

LISTEN TO “SOOTHE ME” YOU” BY THE SIMS TWINS

Another success story from SAR was The Valentinos, who found their breakthrough with “Looking for a Love,” marking their transition from Gospel to R&B. The song’s inspiration and writing were largely due to the newly-hired Zelda Samuels, SAR’s first and only employee at the time. With her assertive phone manner and background in distribution at Decca, Samuels proved to be an indispensable asset to the label. She also understood the two sides of Cooke—the alluring, good-hearted man who wanted to help where he could and the other side that would abruptly shut out people on even the slightest hint of betrayal or dishonesty. She gave the lyrics to Alexander, who further developed the song, and Cooke supervised the recording session, adding the memorable refrain “looking, looking.” “Looking for a Love” hit charts in July 1962, reaching number eight. Samuels would later leave SAR with Mel Carter as his manager. 

After Cooke's sudden death in 1964, SAR ceased its operations, but Cooke's impact on the music industry remained significant. In 1967, Alexander sued Otis Redding and Arthur Conley for copyright infringement and plagiarism in Conley's hit "Sweet Soul Music." Although the song paid tribute to several soul legends of the time, Conley did not credit Cooke, despite interpolating the melody and refrain from Cooke's "Yeah Man," which appeared on his posthumous album Shake. "Sweet Soul Music" reached number two on the charts, sold over a million copies, and received a gold record before Cooke's name was added to the writing credits as part of the settlement.