Gerald Levert: Click A Glass
As I reflect on Gerald Levert's career, two words come to mind: legacy unfulfilled. His untimely death evokes the tragic passing of Otis Redding and Michael Jackson. Redding was the King of Soul hovering at the cusp of superstardom having conquered the international market and the hippie love crowd. Jackson was the King of Pop mapping out 50 concerts to restore his liquidity, erase debt and then walk off into the sunset with his publishing intact.
Levert also had a vision. Rescue traditional R&B from the clutches of peripheral obscurity that snatched the souls of Black performers turned ice-cold like cadavers laid out on a slab of indifference, a bitter memory of what could have been. Wielding his talents like John Henry's hammer, Levert toiled heavily to chip away the granite of indifference one piece at a time.
Redding's fatal plane crash extinguished his lofty plans for the future. Jackson and Levert's future were cut short by a consumption of prescription medication that proved fatal. Like
Redding, Levert was a rugged soul man with aspirational independence.
Redding established his operations in his Georgia hometown.
Levert set up his mini-empire in Cleveland.
As R&B's Last Soul Man, Levert was part of the pantheon of great male soul singers preceded him who made no-frills R&B music---pure, uncut and free of crossover pandering.
From the late eighties through the mid-2000s, the Holy Trinity of Donny Hathaway, Stevie Wonder and Charlie Wilson was the blueprint for young singers like Aaron Hall, Big Bub from Today, K-Ci from Jodeci, Glenn Lewis, Dave Hollister and Musiq Soulchild. Not Levert. His soulful growl and onstage flair was passed on through his paternal bloodline courtesy of father Eddie Levert---legendary front man of the mighty OJays.
Entering the world of mid-eighties post-soul in his late teens, Levert arrived at the peak of an era where Black performers like Maze featuring Frankie Beverly and Luther Vandross built careers on the backs of loyal adult audiences who flocked to their shows and bought their records by the hundreds of thousands (and the millions). Oblivious to the mainstream, they were R&B's best kept secret.
Levert's career took on the same trajectory---until he hit his mid-thirties.
Despite an affiliation with East West/Elektra/Atlantic Records lasting for nearly two decades, Levert's label support was dwindling. Albums came and went with little fanfare. I remember a period during the early 2000s when Levert's Made To Love Ya video briefly made the video countdown on BET's 106 &Park. During an appearance on the show, Levert promoted an an upcoming tour sponsored by Burger King. I thought to myself: is this what it's come to?
Far from a stereotypical disgruntled artist burdened with the "old school" tag, Levert wore his R&B pedigree proudly. He could lob creative curveballs too---occasionally dipping into R. Kelly's salacious bag or incorporating samples in his music. He worked with young producers and hip hop artists as one-third of R&B super group LSG. Far from a hater, Levert gave millennial crooner/ label mate Trey Songz the ultimate co-sign by appearing in his first video.
During his tenure with the popular R&B trio that bore his last name, Levert racked up four consecutive gold albums cannily absorbing evolving Black music styles and anchored by his signature soulful ballads. Between 1986-1993, Bloodline, The Big Throwdown, Just Coolin,' Rope A Dope Style and For Real Tho' produced a slew of #1 and Top 5 hits. His first four solo albums Private Line, Groove On, Father and Son and Love and Consequences kept the momentum going, reaching gold and platinum sales.
Following 1998's million-selling Love and Consequences, the new decade ushered in a new breed of listeners worlds away from the way hip hop impresario Russell Simmons fawned over soul vocal groups proclaiming them as purveyors of all things cool:
People don't understand this but the falsetto, crying singers were the most ghetto singers back then. For all their talk of love, there was something pimp-like, manipulative and fly about that sound. Like one of my favorite records, the Delfonics' Hey Love where the lead singer is begging for that ass in a roof-scratching falsetto...
In an '88 interview Fab Five Freddie also endorsed R&B in the most vivid of terms:
''There was a time when a b-boy may want to get together with his girl and go to a club where you can chill, sip a little Dom Perignon, a little caviar, munch a little fried chicken or whatever may be and cool out with his girl. And he would take off those sneakers and put on a pair of Clarks or British Walkers. When I was a kid, we had the Stylistics and Blue Magic and if you went to see those people, that was how you dressed. You didn't put on sneakers to hear the Stylistics. You put on something kind of fly..
This creative divergent created a schism that was both complex and career-altering. It was like Jodeci's raw swagger versus Boyz II Men's romantic gentility all over again. Bare-chested warblers pledging their love didn't resonate with male listeners preferring hip hop's torrid tales of trife life. They dismissed R&B as "soft."
Singers began injecting similar vibes into their music. Dominant hit-making machine R. Kelly flirted with hip hop sounds and flaunted his R&B thug persona en route to become the most dominant Black male artist of the 2000s.
Jahiem revived Luther's tender heart and Teddy's burnished vocals but wasn't above using his laconic style on street narratives like 2002's "Me and My Bitch": "honey don't be afraid/see this cat riding in that Escalade/plottin' on my riches/yeah he will get slayed."
R&B crooner Joe creamy tenor oozed Ray Parker Jr. (see: "A Woman Needs Love", "Two Places At The Same Time" and "More Than One Way To Love A Woman"). Collaborating on seamless duets with rappers Petey Pablo, G-Unit, Papoose and Nas, he could wax poetic on "All The Things Your Man Won't Do" ("girl to me your like a diamond/I love the way you shine") and then move the meter on "If I Was Your Man" ("my hustle in the streets/gave that up for you too").
Even Levert's closest peer Brian McKnight
occasionally dipped his toe in Black music's contemporary waters. Modern blue-eyed soul singers
Robin Thicke and Justin Timberlake acquired a piece of R&B's real
estate thanks to aping Marvin Gaye and MJ's creative collateral.
Next to rapid-fire rap style vocalizing and champagne-popping love-in-the-club anthems, Levert's clever Motown-Philly reboots ( "All That Matters" "Click A Glass", "Your Smile"), message music ("Crucify Me" "Do I Speak For The World") and vivid storytelling ("DJ Played Our Song") only resonated with his core audience swaddled in the classic R&B of their parent's record collections.
An interview with Sister 2 Sister Magazine revealed Levert's frustration with longtime champion/label exec Sylvia Rhone's current focus on this new era of Black music ("too much Missy and Fabulous up in there"). As label mates churned out big-budget music videos in support of their albums, Levert wasn't happy that a planned sequel to popular video Funny was scrapped for budget reasons.
Teddy Pendergrass went through similar challenges. Buoyed by Rhone's seeming optimism and a projected contract renewal on the horizon, Pendergrass poured his own money into a project only to be dropped from Elektra. The R&B legend didn't mince words: "For all the Sylvia Rhones of the world, I have two words, and its not thank you."
Navigating his career through industry turbulent waters, Levert seemed to live out the lyrics from his 2002 hit "Funny"----"there's no rest/ for a weary man." It wasn't the first time that Levert was at odds with his label. During his nineties run, Levert passed on a tune he thought was too pop for his core audience. Much to the label's dismay---"I Swear" became a massive hit for R&B quartet All-4-One. It could have placed Levert's career in another gear.
After Elektra turned down Levert's request for a large advance to purchase a spacious new home in a Cleveland suburb, he passed along a song he'd written to R&B comrade Barry White. "Practice What You Preach" became White's biggest hit in years. It earned a gold record, went #1 R&B and crossed over to pop. Winning a Soul Train Award and being nominated for Grammy, "Preach" solidified Levert's penchant for making hits for others that were bigger than his own.
"Some of the genre's most memorable records come from men who are interchangeable in the public's eye. They're handsome, they're talented, they're successful---they're also forgettable."
---Vibe Magazine (June 2004)
The final years of Levert's life were a tough period for R&B singers. A June 2004 Vibe Magazine article ("Star Search") detailed the struggles of male vocalists trying to remain relevant during a time when hip hop was eclipsing them in popularity. Ironically, R. Kelly graced the issue's cover.
In 2005, the numbers of Mary J. Blige's Breakthrough exceeded the total sales of Levert's final seven albums of his career. Opportunities were plentiful for this breed of Black stars dominating Billboard's Hot 100. As contemporary artists landed endorsements, TV and film, Levert watched the parade go by. His father---no stranger to a fickle music industry advised his son to go easy. Still, Levert pressed on, hoping to breakthrough.
An R&B paradox, Levert's husky baritone was surrounded by a sea of wispy tenor/falsetto voices. Instead of platinum chains, throwback jerseys, and sneakers, he was usually clad in dapper outfits. Other singers leaned on backup dancers and elaborate stage sets on BET award shows. Levert single-handedly delivered dynamic performances that brought down the house.
Next to 50 Cent, Jay-Z and Diddy's entrepreneurial efforts, Levert's own power moves seemed modest by comparison. Even still---he was light years ahead of the curve. Going back to the late eighties, Levert formed a production company with his partner. He owned a studio/ sound stage/ production facility. He had a roster of homegrown acts and put family and friends on the payroll. Levert hired musicians to maintain the integrity of his live shows and ensure steady bookings. He counseled others performing to music tracks to do the same.
This self-reliance gave him a staying power long past his industry-mandated expiration point.
Criminally excluded from the shortlist of producers dominating late eighties/early nineties R&B, Levert quietly built a name for himself as triple threat producer/singer/songwriter crafting hits for Mikki Howard, Anita Baker, Teddy Pendergrass, Stephanie Mills, and others.
In the years after Levert's death, the unthinkable happened. The music business splintered. Now the playing field was even and conducive to the Levert playbook: R&B was back to thriving in its own universe catering to its niche market worth its weight in platinum and gold.
Classic R&B tours were up. Liberated from the industry chains, artists broke free and mapped out their independent destinies. For years singer Teedra Moses functioned outside the industry matrix. Now former stars contacted her for help with cracking the indie code.
R&B stood firm when Covid-19 came calling. D-Nice spun classics easing our souls and lifting our spirits. In an uncertain future, the Verzus series taught us to cherish the past. Teddy and Babyface helped us remember the time. We reveled in Patti, Gladys, and Dionne's sisterhood.
In a bizarre role-reversal of sorts, R. Kelly's legacy is dead in the water while the man he helped to orchestrate a career comeback---Charlie Wilson---is R&B's hottest commodity still eternally young, still defying the odds and fulfilling Levert's uncompleted mission.
It's a new day but some things remain the same. Frustrated with lack of industry recognition, singer Teyana Taylor ponders retirement at the tender age of 30, obliviously disconnected to the similar road that Phyllis Hyman and others traveled.
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