Curtis Mayfield | "Move On Up"
Aug 24, 2016 18:22:34 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Aug 24, 2016 18:22:34 GMT -5
From his 1970 solo debut Curtis. This surprisingly did not chart in the US upon its initial release, but it did become his biggest hit in the UK (where it peaked at #12).
#25 on Pitchfork's 200 Best Songs of the 1970's:
Love this. One of my favorites by him.
#25 on Pitchfork's 200 Best Songs of the 1970's:
After growing up in Chicago’s Travelling Souls Spiritualist Church, Curtis Mayfield gave the Civil Rights Movement a warm, hopeful soundtrack throughout the ’60s. As the leader of the Impressions, he sang of peace and equality on songs like “People Get Ready” and “Keep on Pushing,” helping to lift Martin Luther King, Jr.’s dream. And his voice, high and soft, made heaven sound a little bit closer to earth.
By 1970, King was gone. Riots had burned through many American cities, fueled by disillusionment, anger, desperation. Nixon was in the White House, preaching law and order. Black Power was fighting back. Curtis Mayfield wasn’t immune to the turmoil. He still had equality in mind, though instead of imagining everyone hopping on a train to the promised land, he opened his debut solo album with a stark warning cry called “(Don't Worry) If There’s a Hell Below, We’re All Going to Go.” Disappointment lurks through the opening side of Curtis, as Mayfield laments dirty politicians, urban poverty, and the segregationist impulse of whites and blacks alike. He ends the first half of the record with a challenge—over languid strings and horns, he sings, “Pardon me, brother, I know we’ve come a long, long way/But let us not be so satisfied, for tomorrow can be an even brighter day.” Then there are two pops on the snare and “Move on Up” explodes with the light of a thousand suns.
This is Mayfield’s American optimism for a new decade—tougher, faster, funkier. The chugging guitar and flared horns nod to James Brown, and the insistent congas keep an open ear to the widening musical dialogue between Africa and the rest of the world. But the striving—the propulsion to keep going forward in the face of any and all adversity—is all Curtis. This thing has so much juice that the kings of sped-up soul, Kanye West and Just Blaze, had to slow it down when they flipped it 35 years later for “Touch the Sky.” The album version ends with an extended outro, five minutes of nothing but groove; the dream lives on inside those undeniable rhythms, wordless, pushing for every inch. –Ryan Dombal
By 1970, King was gone. Riots had burned through many American cities, fueled by disillusionment, anger, desperation. Nixon was in the White House, preaching law and order. Black Power was fighting back. Curtis Mayfield wasn’t immune to the turmoil. He still had equality in mind, though instead of imagining everyone hopping on a train to the promised land, he opened his debut solo album with a stark warning cry called “(Don't Worry) If There’s a Hell Below, We’re All Going to Go.” Disappointment lurks through the opening side of Curtis, as Mayfield laments dirty politicians, urban poverty, and the segregationist impulse of whites and blacks alike. He ends the first half of the record with a challenge—over languid strings and horns, he sings, “Pardon me, brother, I know we’ve come a long, long way/But let us not be so satisfied, for tomorrow can be an even brighter day.” Then there are two pops on the snare and “Move on Up” explodes with the light of a thousand suns.
This is Mayfield’s American optimism for a new decade—tougher, faster, funkier. The chugging guitar and flared horns nod to James Brown, and the insistent congas keep an open ear to the widening musical dialogue between Africa and the rest of the world. But the striving—the propulsion to keep going forward in the face of any and all adversity—is all Curtis. This thing has so much juice that the kings of sped-up soul, Kanye West and Just Blaze, had to slow it down when they flipped it 35 years later for “Touch the Sky.” The album version ends with an extended outro, five minutes of nothing but groove; the dream lives on inside those undeniable rhythms, wordless, pushing for every inch. –Ryan Dombal
Love this. One of my favorites by him.