Skip to main content

There Will Be A Reckoning: “I Heard It Through The Grapevine” by Gladys Knight and The Pips

  
The basic idea for the song came from Barrett Strong, who noticed, while walking through the streets of Chicago in 1966, how often he heard people using the title phrase, the provenance of which went back to the human telegraph chain of communication used by black slaves in the Civil War. Strong took the idea back to Norman Whitfield, who worked on the song and in particular formulated a coherent lyric.

The first recording of the song appears to have been made by The Miracles, with Whitfield in the producer’s chair, in August 1966, but Berry Gordy didn’t think it would make a strong enough single and vetoed its release; it eventually appeared on the group’s 1968 Special Occasion album. Then came Marvin Gaye; that version took two months to record, between February-April 1967 – this was a much more complex production involving intricate arrangements for lead and backing vocals (including overdubs), the Funk Brothers and the strings and principal French horn of the Detroit Symphony Orchestra.

Whitfield was convinced that the Gaye version would be a huge hit, but again Gordy demurred, possibly not so much with the song’s content as with Gaye’s wracked lead vocal, purposely recorded an octave higher than his comfort range – this was not the smoothness expected of a new Nat Cole. Annoyed but persistent, Whitfield then turned to Gladys Knight and The Pips; he had heard Aretha’s “Respect” and thought that he could at least  match it, and at best surpass it. Using a far looser (and considerably faster) arrangement, and some gender-related changes to the lyric, Gladys and The Pips worked on the vocal arrangement for some weeks, with the final recording taking place in June 1967.

Although Gordy remained reluctant to release it – the matter may have been as simple as his basically not liking the song very much – this version did come out as a single in September 1967. Motown put little promotional muscle behind it, but radio DJs got on the record’s case and it steadily climbed to the top of the R&B chart, and nearly became the last pop number one of 1967.

This summary of 1967 might not have been what some readers expected – we have touched upon soft psychedelia and the early stirrings of bubblegum – but overwhelmingly it has told the story of the importance of black pop music in that era. Gladys and The Pips do a fine job with the song and indeed take it back to church. Knight’s  lead vocal is never less than committed – note her triple “just about”s in the choruses, and how that flows into the eerie human telegraph as The Pips pass the words to each other, one by one, underpinned by a sinister piano figure (as well as, as ever, James Jamerson’s wondrous bass). Junior Walker’s alto even turns up briefly, but finally the record’s velocity is such that Knight has to sing, or shriek, the final verse in a high, sustained one-note fashion.

What happened with the song after this will be told at the end of the next summary.

Date Record Made Number Two:  16 December 1967
Number Of Weeks At Number Two: 3
Records At Number One: “Daydream Believer” by The Monkees and “Hello Goodbye” by The Beatles
UK Chart Position: None

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

“I Would Have Thought In The Middle Of The Atlantic In The Middle Of The Night That Rockets Must Mean Trouble”: “I’m Not In Love” by 10cc

"watching for night, with absinthe eye cocked on the lone, late, passer-by." (Sylvia Plath, "Prospect," 1956) This story begins in 1954, before most people had really recognised anything called rock, and a pop record which is half-perfect. That record, which stayed at number one in our charts for ten weeks, was “Cara Mia” by David Whitfield with Mantovani and his Orchestra and Chorus. Now, Whitfield was never the most subtle of singers and his in-your-face bellowing is somewhat distracting – it is significant that he was the first British reality media star (not from television, because at that time Opportunity Knocks was only broadcast on Radio Luxembourg) since his climactic high C at the end of “Cara Mia” is like a display of gymnastics, or an athletic field event; can he do that triple loop or throw that javelin beyond the stadium? It proves that technical prowess can often render itself unlistenable. But the magic here lies in the extraordinary ...

A Disaffection, Or Fight Against Same: “Baker Street” by Gerry Rafferty

Even as a young teenager growing up in Lanarkshire, I was always listening out for music that sounded out of kilter, whether it was George Crumb’s Makrokosmos III (the closing section of which I heard on a Saturday afternoon on Radio 3) or anything which “irrupted” the top forty. From the first time that I heard “Baker Street” on the radio – I think it was Dougie Donnelly on Radio Clyde – I was immediately hooked, mentally noting that this song seemed to go as much against the grain of a standard pop record as anything coming out of punk or New Wave, and was probably just as angry, if not angrier. For forty years I harboured the notion – and this was from a time when visiting London, never mind living and working in it, was still a distant pipedream – that the song encapsulated the situation of the displaced Scotsman, marooned in a world he doesn’t really like or perhaps even understand. Make no mistake, this is undeniably a Scottish record, and seemingly all about someone...

Threads Of Alligator Lizards In The Air: “Purple Rain” by Prince and The Revolution

The original idea was for a country-style collaboration with Stevie Nicks, to whom Prince sent a ten-minute instrumental backing track, asking her to come up with some lyrics. However, Nicks was overwhelmed by what she heard and feared that the task was too much for her to take on, so the song was reworked in rehearsal with The Revolution, utilising Wendy Melvoin’s guitar phrasing as a new guideline. The song appears to have existed before the film; Purple Rain the movie is best described as lucid hokum, but its soundtrack changed the atoms which constituted “pop,” far more so than much ostensibly radical music of the period. For many of that decade’s generation, Purple Rain the soundtrack was “our” Ziggy Stardust – better conceived, performed and produced in every way – and the title song, which closes the album, was “our” “Rock ‘N’ Roll Suicide.” It is such a patient epic, the song, and about a lot of things, and people – each of the verses addresses a different su...