Episode 49: “Love is Strange” by Mickey and Sylvia

A History of Folk Music and 500 Songs

by Andrew Hickey.

Episode 49

Love is Strange by Mickey and Sylvia.

We've talked before, of course, about the great Bo Diddley and his main contributions to rock and roll.

But today we're going to talk about a song he co-wrote, which ended up, in a roundabout way, contributing to many other genres in ways that we won't properly see until we reach the 1970s.

A song that, for all that it is a classic that almost everyone knows, is still rarely treated as an important song in music history.

Yet, this is a song that's a nexus of all sorts of music, which connects the birth of hip-hop to the compositions of Yannis Zenakis by way of Doc Pomas, Beau Diddley, and Icantina Turner.

The story of this song starts with Billy Stewart.

These days Billy Stewart is a largely unknown figure, a minor bluesman on chess who was too close to soul music for the chess Chicago blues fans to take him to heart.

Stewart, like many of the musicians we're looking at at the moment, started out in the gospel field, but moved over to vocal group R and B.

In his case he did so by occasionally filling in for a group called The Rainbows, which featured Don Covey, who would later go on to become a very well known soul singer.

There are no recordings of Stuart with the Rainbows, but this recording of the group a few years later should give you some sort of idea what they sounded like.

If you sing Merrily,

please bring her back to me.

You sing Merrily

for send her home to me.

Merrily,

Merriam,

boy,

my Merri.

Through his work with the group, Stewart got to know Bo Diddley, whose band he joined as a piano piano player.

Stewart also signed on with chess, and his first record, Billy's Blues, featured both Diddley and Diddley's guitarist Jodi Williams on guitar.

Williams came up with that guitar part, and that would lead to a lot of trouble in the future.

And that trouble would come because of Mickey Baker.

Mickey Baker's birth name was Machouston Baker.

Baker had a rough, impoverished upbringing.

He didn't know the identity of his father, and his mother was in and out of prison.

He started out as a serious jazz musician, playing bebop, up until the point he saw the great blues musician Pee-Wee Creighton.

Or, more precisely, when he saw Creighton's Cadillac,

Baker was playing difficult, complex music that required a great amount of skill and precision.

What Creighton was doing was technically far, far easier than anything Baker was doing, and he was making far more money.

So, as Baker put it, I started bending strings.

I was starving to death, and the blues was just a financial thing for me then.

Baker became part of an informal group of people around Atlantic Records, centred around Doc Pomas, a blues songwriter who we will hear much more about in the future, along with Big Joe Turner and the saxophone player King Curtis.

They were playing sophisticated city blues and RB, and rather looked down on the country blues men, who are now much better known as being comparatively unsophisticated musicians.

Baker's comments about bending strings come from this attitude: that real good music involved horns and pianos and rhythmic sophistication, and that what the Delta Bluesmen were doing was something anyone could do.

Baker became one of the most sought-after studio guitarists in the RB field, and, for example, played the staggering lead guitar on Need Your Love So Bad by Little Willie John.

I need someone's hand

to lead me through the night.

I need someone's arms to hold and squeeze me tight.

And when the night begins,

and I'm dealing,

I need your love

so bad.

That's some fitty good string bending.

He was also on a lot of other songs we've we've talked about in previous episodes.

That's him on guitar on Mama He Treats Your Daughter Mean.

Mama,

he treats your daughter mean.

Mama,

he treats your daughter mean.

mama

and shake, rattle, and roll.

Shake, rattle, and roll.

They won't do right.

Save your dog on soul.

Yeah, blood.

I like a one-eyed jack and money honey.

If you wanna get along with me,

if you wanna get along with me,

if you wanna get along.

Well, I ain't

And records by Louis Jordan, Laverne Baker, Ray Charles and more.

Baker was also a guitar teacher, and one of his students was a young woman named Sylvia Vanterpool.

Sylvia was, at the time, a singer who was just starting out in her career.

She had recorded several unsuccessful tracks on Savoy and Jubilee records.

A typical example is her version of I Went to Your Wedding.

And I

was crying

too.

The tear drops were falling

because

we were losing you.

You came down

the aisle.

Sylvia was only 13 when she started her career, using the name Little Sylvia, inspired by Little Esther, who like her was making records for Savoy Records.

And her early recordings are a strange mix of different styles.

For every syrupy ballad like I Went to Your Wedding, there was a hard RB number, more in the little Esther style, like Drive, Daddy, Drive.

Now, if you don't know how to drive, don't you drive me, Daddy, get out of the driver's seat.

Cause when I wanna ride, you've gotta ride me, Daddy.

I'd rather ride than eat.

So if you don't know how to drive, don't drive.

Get out of driver's seat.

Well, you gotta drive.

That was the other side of the same single as I Went to Your Wedding.

And you can hear that while she had some vocal talent, she was not keeping to a coherent enough, distinctive enough sound to make her into a star.

By the time she was twenty, Sylvia was holding down a day job as a typist, trying and failing to earn enough money to live on as a singer.

But she'd been taking guitar lessons from Mickey Baker and had got pretty good.

But then Sylvia started dating a man named Joe Robinson.

Joe Robinson was involved in some way with gangsters.

Nobody has written enough detail for me to get an exact sense of what it was he did with the mob, but he had connections, and he decided he was going to become Sylvia's manager.

While Sylvia's career was floundering, Joe thought he could beef it up.

All that was needed was a gimmick.

Different sources tell different stories about who thought of the idea, but eventually it was decided that Sylvia should join with her guitar teacher and form a duo.

Some sources say that the duo was Joe Robinson's idea, and that it was inspired by the success of Jean and Eunice, Shirley and Lee, and the other vocal duos around the time.

Other sources, on the other hand, talk about how Mickey Baker, who had started out as a jazz guitarist very much in the Les Paul mode, had wanted to form his own version of Les Paul and Mary Ford.

Either way, the gimmick was a solid one.

A male-female duo, both of whom could sing and play the guitar, but playing that string-bending music that Mickey was making money from.

And the two of them had chemistry, at least on stage and on recordings.

Off stage, they soon began to grate on each other.

Mickey was a man who had no interest in stardom or financial success.

He was a rather studious, private man, who just wanted to make music and get better at his instrument, while Sylvia had a razor-sharp business mind, a huge amount of ambition, and a desire for stardom.

But they worked well as a musical team, even if they were never going to be the best of friends.

Originally they signed with the label called Rainbow Records, a medium-sized indie label in New York, where they put out their first single, I'm So Glad.

It's not an especially good record, and it does seem to have a bit of gene and eunis to it, and almost none of the distinctive guitar that would characterise their later work, just some stabbing punctuation on the middle eight, and a rather perfunctory solo.

The B-side, though, said a boom-run done, while it's also far from a wonderful song, does have the semi-calypso rhythm that would later make them famous.

Unsurprisingly, it didn't sell, and nor did the follow-ups.

But the records did get some airplay in New York, if nowhere else, and that brought them to the attention of Bob Roland at Groove Records.

Groove Records was a subsidiary of RCA, set up in 1953.

At that time, the major record labels had a problem, which we've talked about before.

For years, none of them had put out RB records, and the small labels that did put out RB had been locked out of the distribution networks that the major labels dominated.

The result had been that a whole independent network of shops, usually black-owned businesses selling to black customers, had sprung up that only sold RB records.

Those shops had no interest in selling the records put out by the major labels.

Their customers weren't interested in Doris Day or Frank Sinatra.

They wanted Winoni Harris and Johnny Otis.

So why would the shop want to stock anything by Columbia or Decca or RCA, when there was Modern and Chess and Federal and King and Sun and RPM out there, making the kind of records their customers liked?

But of course, the major labels still wanted to sell to those customers.

After all, there was money out there, in the pockets of people who weren't shareholders in RCA or Columbia, and in the eyes of those shareholders, that was the greatest injustice in the world, and one that needed to be rectified forthwith.

And so, those labels set up their own mini-divisions to sell to those shops.

They had different labels because the shops wouldn't buy from the majors, but they were wholly owned subsidiaries fake indie labels, and Groove was one of them.

Groove Records had had a minor hit in 1955 with the piano player Piano Red and his Jump Man Jump.

They hadn't had a huge amount of commercial success since, but Rollance thought that Mickey and Sylvia could be the ones to bring him that success.

Rollance put them together with the saxophonist and arranger King Curtis, whom Mickey already knew from his work with Doc Pomas, and Curtis put together a team of the best R and B musicians in New New York, many of them the same people who would play on most of Atlantic's sessions.

Mickey and Sylvia's first single on Groove, Walking in the Rain, had the potential to be a big hit in the eyes of the record company.

Last night

walking

in the rain.

If I don't find my

I know I'll go insane

how much I love you.

But unfortunately for them, Johnny Ray put this out at around the same time.

Just walking in the rain,

getting soaking wet,

Torture in my heart

I try

to forget

Just to walking in the rain

So alone and blue

That's a totally different song of course It's a cover version of one of the first records ever released on Sun Records a few years earlier, originally by a vocal group called The Prisonaires.

But customers were understandably confused by the presence of two songs with almost identical titles in the market, and so Mickey and Sylvia's song tanked.

They still didn't have that hit they needed.

But at that point, fate intervened in the form of Bo Diddley.

In May 1956, Diddley had written and recorded a song called Love is Strange and not got round to releasing it.

Jodie Williams, who was in Diddley's band at the time, had played the lead guitar on the session, and he'd reused the licks he had used for Billy's Blues on the song.

We're a lot of people.

Take it for a game.

At the time, Diddley was friendly with Mickey Baker, and was using Baker as a session guitarist on outside recordings he was producing for other artists, including recordings with Billy Stewart and with the Marquise, a vocal group which featured a young singer named Marvin Gaye.

As a result, Mickey and Sylvia ended up playing a few shows on the same bill as Deadly.

And at one of the shows, Jodie Williams, who was attracted to Sylvia, decided to play Love is Strange for her.

Sylvia liked the song, and Mickey and Sylvia decided to record it.

Now, Diddley claimed that what he told the song's publishers was that Jodie Williams wrote the music while he wrote the lyrics, but he asked that the credit for the lyrics be put in the name of his wife Ethel Smith.

While Smith's name made the credits, Williams's didn't, and Williams blamed Diddley for the omission, while Diddley just said, with some evidence, that most of the people he signed contracts with were liars and thieves, and that it didn't surprise him that they'd missed Williams' name off.

We'll never know for sure what was actually in Diddley's contracts, because, again, according to Diddley, just before he and Smith divorced, she burned all his papers, so she could claim that he never gave her any money, and he couldn't prove otherwise.

Williams never believed him, and the two didn't speak for decades.

Meanwhile, two other people were credited as writers on the song, Mickey and Sylvia themselves.

This is presumably for the changes that were made between Diddley's demo and the finished song, the famous spoken word section of the song in particular.

How you call your lover boy?

Come here lover boy.

And if he doesn't answer, oh lover boy.

And if he still doesn't answer, I simply say baby.

Oh

baby.

My sweet baby.

You're the one.

According to Diddley, he also later sold his own share in the song to Sylvia, sometime in the early 60s.

This may well be the case, because Sylvia Vanterpool went on to become a very, very successful businesswoman, who made a lot of very wise business decisions.

Either way, Love is Strange was a big hit.

It went to number 11 in the pop charts and number 1 on the R ⁇ B chart.

It's one of those records that everyone knows, and it went on to be covered by dozens upon dozens of performers, including the Maddox Brothers and Moe's.

The Everly Brothers.

And Paul McCartney and Wayne.

My sweet baby,

love is strange.

There are many, many people

to see me take it.

And Jodie Williams never saw a penny from it.

But after Groove Records had had this breakthrough big hit, RCA decided to close the label down, and move the act on the label, and their producer Rollance, to another subsidiary, Vic.

Vic Records had, according to Rollance, probably the worst collection of talent in the history of the world, and was severely in debt.

All the momentum for their career was gone.

Mickey and Sylvia would release many more records, but they would have diminishing returns.

Their next record went top ten R and B, but only number 47 on the pop charts, and the record after that did even worse, only reaching number 85 in the hot one hundred, even though it was another Bow Diddley ballad, very much in the same vein as Love is Strange.

Dearest,

though you're the nearest to my heart,

please don't ever,

yeah,

ever say we'll part

you scar.

But even though that wasn't a big hit record, it was a favourite of Buddy Holly, a singer who at this time was just starting out in his own career.

You can tell how much Holly liked Mickey and Sylvia though, just by comparing the way he sings Baby on many of his records to the way Sylvia sings it in Love is Strange.

And he recorded his own home demos of both Love is Strange and Dearest,

demos which were released on singles after his death.

Dearest,

though you're the nearest to my heart,

please don't ever,

yeah,

ever say we'll part.

But Dearest was so obscure that when Holly's single came out, the song was titled Omo Yeah and credited to Unknown for many years, because no one at the record label had heard the earlier record.

Mickey and Sylvia would have several more records in the Hot 100, but the highest would only reach number 46.

But while they had no more hits under their own names, they did have another hit, as Ag Turner.

After Mickey and Sylvia were dropped along with the rest of the Vic artists, they split up temporarily, but then got back together to start their own company, Willow Records, to release their own material.

Ag Turner played on some of their records, and to return the favour, they agreed to produce a record for Ag and Tina Turner.

The song chosen was called It's Gonna Work Out Fine, and it was co-written by the great RB songwriter Rosemarie McCoy, who had written for Elvis, Nat King Cole, Nappy Brown, and many others.

The other credited co-writer is one Sylvia McKinney, who some sources suggest is the same person as Sylvia Vantapoole, who had by this point married Joe Robinson and changed her name to Sylvia Robinson.

Whether she was the other co-writer or not, Mickey and Sylvia had recorded a version of the song for Vic Records, but it hadn't been released, and so they suggested to Ike that the song would work as an Icantina Tina Turner record, and they would produce and arrange it for them.

Indeed, they did more than that.

They were Ike Turner on the record.

Sylvia played the lead guitar part, while Mickey did the spoken Ike vocals, which Ike would do live.

Sylvia also joined the Ikeets on backing vocals, and while Mickey and Sylvia aren't the credited producers, the end result is essentially a Mickey and Sylvia record with guest vocals from Tina Turner.

I wanna tell you something I

can't.

Uh-huh.

I've been to see the preacher man.

Preacher man, you must be losing your mind.

I thought it

thought it was.

I didn't make it wedding plan.

Oh, really?

Oh, yeah.

If you're gonna love the habit

as a love, I offer you a darling.

Yes, yes.

And that record sold over a million copies and got a Grammy nomination.

However, Mickey and Sylvia's recordings under their own name were still having no success.

And Mickey was also having problems because his then-wife was white, and with the particularly virulent form of racism the US was suffering through at the time, he didn't want to be in the country anymore.

He was also becoming more and more interested in the academic side of music.

He had already, in 1955, written a book, The Complete Course in Jazz Guitar, which is still available today and highly regarded.

So he moved to Europe and went back into jazz, performing with people like Coleman Hawkins.

But he did more than just jazz.

He studied composition with Yannis Zenakis and started writing fugues and a concerto for guitar and orchestra, the Blues Suite.

Unfortunately, while some of that music was recorded, it only appears to have been released on now out of print and expensive vinyl, which no one has uploaded to the internet, so I can't accept it for you here.

What I can accept is a project he did in the mid 1970s, an album called Mississippi Delta Dews, released under his birth name Macouston Baker, where he paid tribute to the country bluesmen he'd looked down on earlier by performing their songs, along with some of his own in a similar style.

It's an odd album in which sometimes he does a straight sound-alike, like this version of Robert Johnson's Terraplane Blues.

well I feel so lonesome

please hear me when I'm on

now let me drive your turplet mama

let me be your motor mode and sometimes he uses strings

sometimes this is just a standard pop style string section but sometimes he's using them in ways he learned from Zanakis like in this version of J.B.

Lenore's Alabama Blues, rewritten as the Alabama March, which ends up sounding like nothing as much as Scott Walker.

Third March 25th

Baker carried on performing music of all kinds around Europe until his death in 2011.

He died massively respected for his contributions to blues, jazz, RB, and the technical proficiency of generations of guitarists.

Sylvia Robinson made even more of a contribution.

After a few years off to have kids after the duo split up, she set up her own record label, All Platinum.

For All Platinum, she wrote and produced a number of photo disco hits for other people in the late 60s and early 70s.

Those included Shame, Shame, Shame for Shirley and Company.

That's the song that inspired David Bowie, John Lennon, and Carlos Alimar to rework a song Bowie and Alomar had been working on, called Footstomping, into fame.

Sylvia also had a hit of her own, with a song called Pillow Talk that she'd written for Al Green, but which he turned down due to its blatant sexuality conflicting with his newfound religion.

But I'm afraid we're going to have to wait more than two years before we find out more about Sylvia's biggest contribution to music.

Because Sylvia Robinson, who had been little Sylvia and the woman calling her Loverboy, became to hip-hop what Sam Phillips was to rock and roll.

And when we get to 1979, we will be looking at how, with financing from her husband's gangster friend Maurice Levy, someone from the first wave of rock and roll stars was more responsible than anyone for seeing commercial potential in the music that eventually took rock's cultural place.

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