Ghetto Hymns: Deconstructing Jaheim's Blue Collar Soul
Once upon a time, a slew of love men ruled the early 2000s R&B scene. A June 2004 Vibe Magazine article ("Star Search") noted their distinctive attributes: handsome, talented, successful and forgettable. In danger of being swept away in a sea of anonymity, their capsized career highlights read like a epitaph: almost famous and unidentifiable. Destined to "languish in a murky zone of semi-stardom. There were a few glaring exceptions---R. Kelly was crowned "the undisputed king." Usher was hailed as "this year's Michael Jackson." Also on the short list of "bonafide superstars" was New Jersey crooner Jaheim aka "the blue collar lover."
As contemporary soul competed with Jadakiss' raspy charisma and Jay-Z's detached cool pose and DMX's grit, Jaheim cut across polarizing lines. Sexy enough for the ladies, his rugged vibe gave him a pass among male hip hop fans clocking R&B from a screw-faced
distance dismissing it as "soft."
Legendary R&B greats had long been the template for younger generations of male singers. Stevie Wonder and Charlie Wilson birthed New Jack Swing's churchy melisma. Steve Arrington's nasal riffs passed through Keith Sweat. Donny Hathaway's tonal warmth heated up Musiq's neo-soul. Prince, Marvin Gaye and MJ's supple falsettos/tenors remain forever omnipresent.
Instead of mimicking Kelly's vocal cadence and cinematic melodrama (see Usher's
"Confessions," Tank's "Maybe I Deserve"and Avant's "Separated") Jaheim unearthed Luther Vandross' perfect pitch and Teddy
Pendergrass' husky seduction and in one swoop---secured an elusive mature fan base raised on classic soul and exposed the R&B luminaries to new audiences.
Whether painted in broad strokes or accented with slight flourishes, soulful elements dropped in Jaheim's music were akin to ice cubes in a single-malt scotch, unleashing an intoxicating aroma of Black music's illustrious past.
Successive interpolations and samples from The Dramatics, Donny Hathaway, the Isley Brothers, Force MDs, Shirley Murdock Atlantic Starr and Percy Sledge peek through records like "Conversation" "Still Ghetto, "Heaven In Your Eyes" "Have You Ever." "I've Changed" "Morning" and "Impossible".
Bobby Womack's 1982 "If You Think You're Lonely Now" turns up in "Lonely." "Put That Woman First" reboots Stax soul man William Bell's 1969 "I Forgot To Be Your Lover." "The Chosen One" is built on Willie Hutch's 1973 mack anthem "I Choose You" Not content with sampling music tracks, Jaheim eases in famous lyric lines taken from the original recordings of these R&B staples.
Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes Philly
Soul samples of "Wake Up Everybody", "To Be True" and "Hope To Be
Together Soon" played up the Jaheim/Teddy connection. "Ready Willing and Able" pairs Barry White's 1977 "You Turned My Whole
World Around" with Pendergrass riffs ("I'm lyin' here/ waitin' my dear") from 1979's "Turn Off The Lights." "Special Day" replicates TSOP session singer Barbara Ingram's coy romantic monologue from "Come Go With Me." The 1979 hit gained new life as the 2004 Nelly/Jaheim smash "My Place."
In today's R&B, backing vocals fall short of the bar set by session singers Lisa featured prominently on Luther and Teddy records like "It's Over Now","Wait For Love," "I Don't Love You Anymore" and "Set Me Free." Jaheim carries on tradition, enlisting a cadre of singers to provide ample back-up.
For example, on Tha' Rayne assisted "Fabulous," Jaheim's gruff-indictment---"we got love for ya'll/ but ya'll don't love us!" is highlighted by Tha' Rayne's memorable hook and motivational sing-song chant:
Like a weary bluesman, Jaheim spins tales of love, loss and regret. His Delta moan ("have you ever been love?") kicks off "Everytime I Think of Her."
On "Everywhere I Am" he mourns the loss of his mother who passes just as her son reaches stardom's threshold: "It's killing me softly/thinking you can't see how your son's living." Even with blind eyes you can easily follow tracks of Jaheim's tears right to the gates of heaven's stairway as he cries out to his beloved Mama Julie---"finally got the platnium record/did you see me on Soul Train?" On "I Ain't Never" he laments his hard-knock life:
Forget exotic locales or fly nightclub settings. Jaheim's private domain exists within a four-block radius where vivid lyrics pop like a colorful hood mural on the side of a storefront. On "125th" he's a street corner mack:"posted up on the block/like the
baddest chick/ so I asked her one question---who you with?" Like LL, its about the round-the-way girls for Jaheim: "them other girls be hating cause your unique/I love you cause you're from the streets."
Facing down scheming adversaries on "Me & My Bitch" Jah reassures his lady she's safe in his arms---"honey don't be afraid/ see that cat plottin' in that Escalade?/plottin' on my riches/ yeah he will get slayed." And when the smoke clears---he pledges to "get the cake/cop the rock/ meet ya pops/and move ya whole family off the block."
The antithesis of 80s genteel love men and millennium love-in-the-club players, Jahiem's off-kilter romantic overtures like "breakfast when you wake/ along with a candle on a cupcake that I baked/here's a rose with no thorn on the stem" and "let's go get your license changed/ I'll change your last name to my last name" prove just as seductive as champagne and glittery diamonds.
Proving he's like the rest of us---R&B's common man takes a love TKO to the chin as a spurned stepfather kicked to the curb by a single mother on "Daddy Thing,"---"I got my income tax and said fuck it/and traded in your bucket" and paves the way for future gravel-voiced rough-and-tumble soul men like Anthony Hamilton, Lyfe Jennings and Raheem DeVaughn.
Future writing collaborator/Blackstreet member Eric Williams' solo turn on 1999's "Drama" planted seeds for Jaheim's pedestrian storytelling style but its his mastery of Luther Vandross' well-placed diction and signature laconic delivery---short on words and long on sentiment---that separates him from the pack. The spirit of Luther's 1981 ballad "A House Is Not A Home" hovers over "Forever" right down to its shimmery curtain-closing finale.
"In My Hand's" pristine production and bewitching lyrics---"I woke up on top of the world today/ holdin' her hand/she don't mind me leadin' the way/as long as I never let her fall/ she wouldn't have to pull away/ gypsy woman can you read my palm?/is my life line broken or is it long?" capture the essence of deep Luther album gems "Other Side of the World" and "Make Me A Believer.
Jaheim's life and career is a study in ironic perplexities. A young boy born a stone's throw away from the cradle of hip hop looks to Whitney Houston Freddie Jackson, Sam Cooke and David Ruffin for inspiration. It's Luther not Teddy who pops up on his radar. After the hits trickle in he clears up public misconceptions during a Philly radio interview:
"Well I’ve been inspired by Luther Vandross. That’s my favorite singer
out of all the singers. I’ve been inspired by Sam Cooke. I can’t say
I’ve been inspired by Teddy Pendergrass, but me and Teddy are great
friends. I’ve learned from all the sampling that most of my producers
use who Teddy was. I always heard the songs I just didn’t know who it
was. I couldn’t put a face with it. All I knew was that he was in a
wheelchair. I didn’t grow up a fan of Teddy’s. I couldn’t put his face
with the songs. But in my time that I came up in the 80s it was Luther.
Luther was the singer of my time. I learned that Teddy Pendergrass used
to be the man."
Experiences with his predecessors produced mixed outcomes. A chance encounter with the diva-like Vandross nearly ends in a snub until a lady calls out Jaheim's name. Then the tables turn---Luther: "Jaheim? "From Anything?" Jahiem: "He stuck his hand out, and I shook it. That meant alot to me."
When Vibe staged a meeting with Pendergrass, it seemed like a match made in heaven. On paper it seemed perfect: two baritone church singers from the rough streets of Philly and Jersey. One emerges from his drummer background and an unsatisfying stint in a group to become Black America's elite performer. The other moves out of the shadow of his label mates to achieve breakout success and hopefully ascends as heir to the throne. Not quite.
After a few jewels from Teddy, Jahiem proposes a duet. Pendergrass turns him down flat: "you don't wanna do that, Jah. Not yet." Not ready to give up the crown, his words are final: "I ain't trying to pass no torches. You got to get your own." Years later, Jaheim reflected on their meeting:
"When I met Teddy it wasn’t a good thing. He thought I was trying to take something from him. I know Teddy made one comment about how I was trying to take his spot. But it wasn’t really him, it was more the radio and media people. People were like, “You remind me of Teddy,” and when Teddy hears that a million times he’s sitting in a wheelchair thinking, “Oh, this guy thinks he can be me???” But I always respected Teddy. We got to be good friends before he passed away. I never tried to pattern myself after him."
Despite a solid career with five of seven albums going gold or platinum, R&B's rapid turnover, intense competition and shrinking label support in a downsized industry would slow Jaheim's career momentum. Awards eluded him. His reaction to one of his peers (who shall remain nameless) winning in the only category he was nominated in elicited an abrupt response: "(he) can't see me, man. He can't see me when I'm hoarse. I'm about to start lettin' n----s know."
As Jaheim's career continued R&B underwent a metamorphosis: it moved into a synth-driven Euro-dance space, retreating back to piercing falsetto/ tenor voices---all the antithesis of Jaheim soulful samples and folksy romance akin to the late Gerald Levert who'd experience a similar gentrification ("too much Missy and Fabolus up in here") years earlier.
Today's contemporary R&B pushes the eclectic envelope. Instead of throaty mountaintop vocals, most acts flaunt a spoken-word style remotely similar to ones heard on Jaheim's "Beauty And A Thug" duet with Mary J. Blige: "Now she's the opposite of he/such as a butterfly/and he's a killer bee/ yeah she becomes a victim to his sting/ and he's amazed by the color of her wings"
These moments only soldify Jaheim's kinship with Teddy and Luther. Post-accident, Pendergrass' virile smoulder was replaced by Black pop's genteel flicker. While MJ and Prince moved musical mountains above ground, below ground---Vandross went unnoticed in mainstream circles despite quietly selling millions of records of superior music that dominated Black radio.
Jaheim's under-the radar legacy is a work in utility. Constructed brick by brick and rooted in the firmament of Black music's past, its a solid foundation destined to remain steadfast against heavy winds of industry change.
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