A Tale of Two Anthems: “Dancing in the Street” and “Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing”
1964 was a seismic year, where Motown’s rhythm met the pulse of a changing America. As President Lyndon Johnson signed the Civil Rights Act into law, Motown celebrated its own revolution. The Supremes, once dismissed as “the no-hit Supremes,” rewrote their narrative with three back-to-back chart-toppers: “Where Did Our Love Go,” “Baby Love,” and “Come See About Me,” cementing their place as pop royalty. The Temptations, powered by the electrifying voice of David Ruffin, were poised to deliver 1965’s timeless anthem, “My Girl.”
“Queen of Motown” Mary Wells. Illustration by J.D. Humphreys
• THE “QUEEN OF MOTOWN” LEAVES IT ALL BEHIND •
But while Motown’s star ascended, storm clouds gathered. Mary Wells, the anointed “Queen of Motown,” shocked the industry with her dramatic exit at the peak of her career. Her plea to escape a contract she’d signed as a teenager ignited tensions that scorched bridges with Berry Gordy’s hit-making empire. The drama spilled across the Atlantic as British tabloids got wind of her departure before the news even made it stateside, turning whispers of betrayal into an international spectacle. Mary didn’t quietly bow out; she blazed a trail of defiance, leaving behind a legacy as the queen who dared to challenge the Motown dynasty and carve her own path.
“I met Mary Wells finally backstage after the review,” said Dave Godin, founder of the Tamla-Motown Appreciation Society and Mary Wells Fan Club, referring to the Tamla-Motown review in London. “She was very nice, and she was with her secretary Maye Hamilton. I didn’t ask her about the rumours that she’s leaving Tamla-Motown, but there should be a decision and statement soon one way or the other.”
Wells reportedly voiced her frustration over the label funneling profits from her huge hit earlier in the year, “My Guy,” into promoting the Supremes, who were swiftly becoming Motown’s golden girls. Determined to reclaim her autonomy, she filed a lawsuit and ultimately triumphed. In 1965, she accepted a lucrative deal with 20th Century Fox Records, stepping away from the Motown machine with high hopes for a fresh start and greater control over her career.
LISTEN TO “MY GUY” BY MARY WELLS
“I have changed labels nows and I’m with 20th Century Fox,” Wells gleefully remarked at the time. “I’ve always wanted to write theme tunes for movies and now it may be possible on my new label. I’d like to make more appearances in night clubs—and maybe even appear in movies.”
Instead, Wells’ career stalled, turning her departure into a cautionary tale that quickly spread through Motown. It became a parable for other artists: leaving Motown in haste, as Wells had done, didn’t guarantee greener pastures at another label. In the aftermath, Motown’s team scrambled to fill the void, racing to mold a new “Queen of Motown” from their roster of female talent. The quest for the perfect sound for young America intensified, and for the moment, the label’s stars stayed put—keenly aware that Wells’ exit had created an opportunity they were eager to seize.
• “DANCING IN THE STREET” •
For Mickey Stevenson, Kim Weston was the one—personally and professionally. As his wife, she was his muse, and the song he envisioned was crafted with her in mind. Stevenson, inspired by the sight of Detroit kids dancing in the spray of summer fire hydrants, shared an early draft of the ballad with Marvin Gaye. But Gaye, sensing the song’s potential for broader appeal, proposed a shift: why not turn this “melancholy song” into a high-energy anthem? With writer Ivy Jo Hunter joining the mix, they reworked the tune into “Dancing in the Street,” a jubilant celebration of people coming together, no matter where they called home. True to Stevenson’s vision, the song radiated joy and nostalgia, perfectly capturing the essence of carefree summer days. Before Weston’s recording session, Stevenson planned to hand her a demo tape to study, ensuring she could bring his vision to life in the studio.
While searching for a female vocalist to record the demo, Martha Reeves happened to be nearby and was asked to step in. After just two run-throughs, she began to sing, drawing inspiration from the vibrant music scene of her Eastside Detroit neighborhood—where portable record players blared and kids danced in the streets. Lost in the nostalgia of it all, Reeves effortlessly delivered the song, recording not one but two remarkable takes—one of which was lost when Stevenson, unbeknownst to her, forgot to hit record. From the control room, she saw the men erupt in celebration after her second performance. At Motown, there was an unwritten rule: the singer who brought a song to life claimed it. Stevenson, who had signed Reeves years earlier, knew she had earned it. But he also knew he had a difficult conversation ahead—explaining to his wife, Kim Weston, that her song had just become Martha's.
The Vandellas were brought in to record the background vocals, marking a departure from the usual practice of using the Andantes. Perhaps the producers felt the song needed the authentic sound of the Vandellas. It was Betty Kelley's first session as a new member of the group, and there was curiosity about how she would handle fresh material. Rosalind Ashford, another Vandella, was called in to rehearse with Kelley. Within just a few takes, they nailed it.
Martha Reeves (center), and Vandellas Betty Kelley (left), and Rosalind Ashford (right). Illustration by J.D. Humphreys
During the quality assurance session, Gordy was immediately drawn to the opening seconds of the horns, the signature hook of the song. He was so impressed that he gave his instant approval. "Dancing in the Street" was released just weeks later on July 31, 1964, and quickly proved its power. It soared to number two on the Billboard Hot 100 and reached number four on the U.K. Singles Chart, cementing its place as a crossover hit.
• UNINTENDED ANTHEM, UNEXPECTED CONSEQUENCES •
In Ready for a Brand New Beat, author Mark Kurlansky presents a fascinating exploration of how "Dancing in the Street" unexpectedly transformed into an anthem of activism. Reeves rattles off cities like Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington D.C., and Detroit—the heart of "The Motor City"—as places where the streets were alive with dance. New Orleans, Chicago, New York City, and L.A. also made the song’s list. Coincidentally, many of these cities found themselves caught in the midst of riots and protests that summer and in the years after.
June 11: Martin Luther King Jr. is arrested alongside civil rights demonstrators in St. Augustine, Florida.
June 17: The Ku Klux Klan burns Mount Zion Church in Longdale, Mississippi—one of twenty Black churches targeted that summer. The FBI launches an investigation under the codename MIBURN (Mississippi Burning).
June 19: The Senate passes the Civil Rights Bill with a vote of 73 to 27.
June 21: The first 200 SNCC volunteers head to Mississippi for the Freedom Summer project. That same day, civil rights workers James Chaney, Michael Schwerner, and Andrew Goodman go missing.
June 22: The FBI begins its investigation into the disappearance of the three activists.
July 2: President Lyndon B. Johnson signs the Civil Rights Act into law, a landmark in the fight for racial equality.
July 16: Harlem and Bedford-Stuyvesant erupt in a five-day uprising following the fatal shooting of a Black teenager by a white police officer.
July 24: A race riot breaks out in Rochester, New York.
July 31: Motown releases “Dancing in the Street” by Martha & The Vandellas on the Gordy label.
August 4: The bodies of Chaney, Schwerner, and Goodman are discovered buried in an earthen dam in Mississippi.
August 11: Race riots ignite in Elizabeth and Paterson, New Jersey.
August 15: Race riot erupts in Dixmoor, Illinois (Chicago).
August 29: Philadelphia experiences its own race riot as tensions flare.
September 29: Veterans of the Mississippi Freedom Summer defy restrictions imposed by the UC Berkeley campus, sparking the first of many student-led demonstrations.
The timing, however, led to unintended consequences. Some radio stations pulled the song from their playlists, concerned about its link to civil unrest and radical activism, particularly when figures like H. Rap Brown adopted "Dancing in the Street" as a rallying cry.
The song's lyrics raised eyebrows, especially the phrase "dancing in the streets." In Black culture, "dancing" symbolized celebration, but the phrase had deeper significance, too. It had previously appeared in a pivotal moment in First Amendment history, when a Supreme Court ruling in favor of The New York Times—after it ran an ad criticizing Alabama police's handling of a civil rights demonstration—was described by a scholar as "an occasion for dancing in the street." Kurlansky notes how this usage became firmly entrenched, adding a layer of meaning to the song’s infectious call for unity.
Are you ready for a brand new beat
Summer’s here and the time is right
For dancing in the street.
While it's important not to overlook the political weight carried by Motown and other Black artists, "Dancing in the Street" was never meant to be a protest anthem or a call to violence.
That didn’t stop a swarm of reporters from London grilling a visibly shaken Reeves about her supposed role in the 1967 Detroit riots, even linking the event to the song from three years earlier. "My Lord, it was a party song," Reeves said, horrified at being associated with riots and unrest.
Ashford shares her sentiment, adding, "It’s just like a party song. It’s an exciting song. That’s it. When I hear it, I just want to dance. Mickey Stevenson and Ivy Hunter wrote it—I don’t really know why they mentioned those cities."
Reeves would later emphasize that the song took on deeper meaning when it came to harmonizing—and dancing—together in the streets during that time. "We couldn't stand on street corners and sing," she recalls, "because there was a police unit called the Big Four. It was usually four big white men, and they had clubs and guns. And if they caught a group of Black people standing on the corner singing doo-wop... they would jump out of the car and attack you, arrest you, or run to your house, because they didn't want Blacks gathering. So 'Dancing in the Street' is all of that to me."
• “DANCING IN THE STREET” PAVES THE WAY FOR A SOULFUL RENAISSANCE •
The success of "Dancing in the Street" exposed a market eager for more soul and R&B, and Motown saw an opportunity to capitalize on this demand. While Martha & The Vandellas, with their grittier sound, partially filled the gap, Motown was soon under pressure to produce even more soul music. The rise of Soul posed a unique challenge to Motown’s polished, upscale pop image, and there was a real risk of alienating its vital Black audience. To navigate this, Gordy launched Soul Records, a subsidiary label designed to house the rawer, more soulful artists like Shorty Long, Jimmy Ruffin, Junior Walker and the All Stars, and later, Gladys Knight & the Pips. This move was both strategic and calculated—Gordy could adapt the label’s roster to shifting trends and consumer tastes. If Soul Records didn’t take off, he could quietly phase it out, minimizing any risk to Motown’s established brand.
Junior Walker and The All Stars. Illustration by J.D. Humphreys
Without "Dancing in the Street," many of Motown's grittier soul artists and groups may never have found a place to call home. In 1965, Junior Walker and the All Stars recorded the first true "soul" hit for the label with "Shotgun." The track was born when Motown’s producers gave Walker the freedom to tap into his Midwest tour roots and channel the sounds of B.B. King and Fats Domino. "Shotgun" rocketed to number one on the R&B charts and soared to number four on the pop charts, proving that audiences craved raw, soulful music. With his iconic tenor saxophone and powerhouse vocals, Walker followed up with another hit, "(I’m a) Road Runner," solidifying his place on the Soul Records roster.
LISTEN TO “SHOTGUN” BY JUNIOR WALKER AND THE ALL STARS
The unmistakable sound of the saxophone, popularized by artists like Junior Walker, experienced a vibrant resurgence in the early 1980s. “It’s like an icon in people’s imaginations,” said Steve Berlin, formerly of the group Los Lobos. “They hear the saxophone and it awakens something like an earlier memory of the fifties and sixties. The sound of a saxophone… that raspiness really gets through to people. It hits them in places other instruments can’t reach.”
The song's crossover appeal ultimately outweighed its unintended political connotations, turning it into a lasting hit. In the UK, the dance continued in 1969 when “Dancing in the Street” was re-released, climbing to an impressive number 4 on the Singles Chart—far surpassing its initial peak at number 28. The song’s infectious energy inspired covers by a wide range of artists, including The Mamas and the Papas, The Kinks, the Grateful Dead, and, most famously, a 1985 duet by Mick Jagger and David Bowie. The Jagger-Bowie version brought the song full circle, soaring to number one on the UK chart.
LISTEN TO “DANCING IN THE STREET” BY MICK JAGGER AND DAVID BOWIE
• KIM WESTON DELIVERS AN INTENDED ANTHEM •
While “Dancing in the Street” became an unofficial anthem for many, the Black National Anthem, “Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing,” stood as a powerful companion to the Civil Rights Movement throughout the 1960s and beyond. Revered as both a hymn in churches and a staple at graduation ceremonies for historically Black colleges and universities, the song originated as a poem by James Weldon Johnson in 1900. His brother, J. Rosamond Johnson, later set it to music, and it was first performed at a celebration of Abraham Lincoln’s birthday in 1905. By 1919, the NAACP had officially adopted it as the “Negro National Anthem.” Notably, even “The Star-Spangled Banner” would not achieve its designation as the U.S. national anthem until 1931.
A powerful cry for liberation and an affirmation of Black identity, the Black National Anthem, “Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing,” took center stage at the 1972 WattStax festival at the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum. Former Motown singer Kim Weston, who years earlier had narrowly missed the opportunity to record “Dancing in the Street,” delivered a stirring performance of the anthem. In a striking contrast, attendees chose not to stand for “The Star-Spangled Banner” but rose with fists held high as Weston sang the Black National Anthem, a defining moment of unity and pride.
Kim Weston. Illustration by J.D. Humphreys
The WattStax festival itself was a commemoration of the 1965 Watts riots, transformed into a celebration of Black culture and music. Weston, who had left Motown in 1967 to join MGM with her husband, Mickey Stevenson, released This Is America a year later, an album centered on patriotism through a Black lens. Her rendition of “Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing” was released as a single, with all proceeds donated to the United Negro College Fund.
LISTEN TO “LIFT EVERY VOICE AND SING” PERFORMED BY KIM WESTON
For Weston, the song held personal significance—she had known it since kindergarten in Detroit—but she hadn’t anticipated the overwhelming reaction it would receive that day, cementing its role as a unifying anthem for a community striving for justice and equality.
“I was told that I was blackballed because when the record company saw those fists go up, they thought it was a militant thing…”
- Kim Weston
“I was told that I was blackballed because when the record company saw those fists go up, they thought it was a militant thing, you know,” Weston said. “But it was nation time, and that really was the first time that I had seen anything like that, and it just overwhelmed me. It really did. It was a wonderful occasion to have watched that.”