19 | Knock on Wood | Motown Vs. Stax
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In today's gig economy, turning your passion into a full-blown job is positioned as the dream, right? I mean, you and I have both done it conscious, monetized our gifts, so to speak. But there's a side of this art as commerce thing that people rarely talk about. Yes, definitely a nuanced blessing. You know, it's a blessing when you can take what your passion is and what you have for your creative outlet and it becomes a business. But...

navigating that shift, man, man, man, let's just say it can be depressing sometimes. It's absolutely true. I mean, you're walking this tightrope between your artistic vision and then the demands of the people that are paying the bills. Oh, yes, definitely. And even if it's your own company, I'm talking about you are the company, you are the business, right?

It still can get a little strenuous, especially when you're turning your passion into a business, you know, because you're the one that has to make the hard choices of what the business look like and how that business is going to run. Yeah, and sometimes you start to forget what you're in it for. But then you create something that reminds you of the reason you even got in this for. Something that makes it all worthwhile. Let's get into some Black history for real. ♪

It's December 1965, Memphis. Jim Stewart eases into the recording booth. He's not there to run the session, just observe. His label Stax is about to record a new song for the music duo Sam & Dave. Sam & Dave are actually signed with Atlantic Records, but legendary producer Jerry Wexler doesn't trust his New York team to record them, even with all of Atlantic's fancy advanced equipment.

Instead, Jerry wanted that gritty Memphis sound, pegboard and burlap on the walls, everybody having to record at the same time using the same mic. Stax's humble studio gives the same feel as one of Sam and Dave's live performances, dynamic and hardworking like Jackie Wilson, minus the cool charm, a hate gospel influence like Sam Cooke, but less angelic.

Jim could see their potential as clearly as Jerry, but he hadn't been able to bring it out. The guitarist from Stax's house band had written songs for Sam and Dave. Jim had produced, but none of them had been worth the price of a cup of coffee. So Jim decided to let a new songwriting team take over and produce. Jim didn't want Jerry to lose faith in him.

We're almost ready, Sam. Jim listens to the melody being played on the piano. He knows there's going to be a problem.

You guys are killing me. Why you got me singing up in the air? Jim doesn't like Sam's negative attitude. The way he sees it, even if you don't like the octave you're singing in, there's no reason to complain. Sam's lucky to be here. Jim remembers his short time as a country singer. He would have killed for a chance like this. He's about to scold Sam, but the producer steps in. Your strength is in your tenor.

Jim scans the settings on the console. The levels look good, although not what he would have chosen. But he's down with whatever gets the best results. Dave walks in and stands at the mic. Sam joins him. Jim watches the producer direct them from the booth. He explains. A hand up means hold. A twirling finger means ad-lib. It's smart. Reminds Jim of the gospel choir directors he's seen.

Sam is trying to sound like Marvin Gaye again. That's the opposite sound of the Memphis sound. That's the opposite of what Jerry wants, what Jim needs to deliver. Jim walks over to the intercom button. He signals for the songwriter to stop playing the piano. Sam, you're trying to compete with Motown. Stop. Motown's vision is pop. You're a raw soul man. Let's concentrate on that.

Sam nods his head. Jim can see how much Sam dislikes him. It's written all over his face. The frowning eyebrows, a fake smile, darkened eyes. Sure, man. No Motown.

Jim hopes this song charts, and he can tell Sam's going to get difficult if it doesn't. He might even get Jerry to pull him from Stacks. Not on Jim's watch. He starts advising the producer more than he'd planned. Stacks' reputation is at stake. His reputation, too. ♪

Thank you.

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Hey, I'm Ryan Reynolds. Recently, I asked Mint Mobile's legal team if big wireless companies are allowed to raise prices due to inflation. They said yes. And then when I asked if raising prices technically violates those onerous two-year contracts, they said, what the f*** are you talking about, you insane Hollywood a**hole?

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And I'm Francesca Ramsey. This week, we're continuing our four-part series on Motown vs. Stacks. It's a great time to get to know each other,

In this episode, we're going to take a look at the growing pains Motown and Stax experience as they become more and more successful. And the pressure to dominate the charts could blow them apart. This is episode two, Knock on Wood. ♪ Black is beautiful ♪

See, before Barry Gorey manifested his dreams of creating his record label, he worked at Ford Motor Company's Lincoln Mercury plant. He stood on the assembly line and watched each car start out as a bare metal frame. The frame would take on new pieces at different stations until it became a brand new car.

At that point, he realized he can do the same thing with people. And in building his record label, he follows through on that idea, collecting talented songwriters from different styles of music, gospel, jazz, blues, even classical. Barry meets the 17-year-old black classical and jazz trombonist Paul Reiser through a friend. He convinces Paul to join Motown as one of the Funk Brothers, backing musicians who were more experienced in jazz and the blues.

They were also drunk and high a lot of the time.

But Paul is more straight-laced, so instead he focuses on arranging. Mm-hmm. Once Barry gets his musicians together, he needs to find songwriters that can fill out what he and Smokey are doing. He then turns to Lamont Dozier and brothers Brian and Eddie Holland. The legendary songwriting trio he assembles, Holland, Dozier, Holland, will soon go on to become a household name.

Next, he develops an assembly line process for song development. The bare frame, someone comes up with an idea for a song. Then, the A&R department signs off on the idea. Conscious, Pop Quiz, do you know what A&R stands for? Man, I say...

Artists and repertoire. Repertoire. You know, like I say that, I feel smooth when I say it too. It sounds so natural. Artists and repertoire. You know, A&R execs usually find talent in direct and professional and artistic development. Sounds like Barry Gordy, don't it?

Oh, yeah. He was definitely the de facto head of A&R. And a big part of being an A&R exec at Motown is selecting song ideas. Once A&R signs off on the song idea, it goes to the producer for review. Then...

Musicians start writing. The beat has to be danceable, a strong and steady 4-4 tempo. Sometimes with a tambourine thrown in there too. Call and response techniques add structure to the song. A musician might play something, another musician plays it back or answers the call with a different response. Y'all understand the science to it, right? The sophisticated melodies and complex chord changes are staples of Motown's jazz or roots.

And do not forget the strings and gentle horns. They're the product of Motown's classical musicians and arrangers. Mm-hmm, mm-hmm. Then you sprinkle some of that after the song is built. Musicians cut the track.

If A&R and the producers think the music is good enough, it gets sent to the lyricists. Now remember, all that work happens before the song even gets lyrics. That's because Bird was all about the sound. And the feel of the song, too. The songs were usually short to get more airplay. Absolutely.

After the lyrics are written, the song is recorded by several artists, all using the same backing track. Then, whichever version Barry and his executives like best is released. But sometimes, even that extensive process isn't good enough for Barry. It's early October 1960, Detroit. Barry is in bed. His body is still, but his mind is racing. He looks over at his wife, Raynoma,

She's sleeping so peacefully. He wishes he could, but as usual, the business is on his mind. Actually, it's the music. One song, if he's being honest with himself. Shop around. Something's not right. See, Smokey had written it for a blues single, but Barry had convinced Smokey he should sing it instead. Barry thinks to himself, yeah, it's still too bluesy and slow.

Barry resists the urge to wake Ramona up and discuss a new arrangement with her. She's been busy with their one-year-old son and helping Barry with the business. She needs to sleep. Besides, shop around is just as much his baby as it is Smokey's. He's the one who went to every black DJ in town. He's never sweet-talked and cajoled so many men in his life. And the song is a hit, locally. But it could be a hit nationally if he could just solve the arrangement.

Barry eases out of bed. He knows he's not going to sleep anytime soon. He walks past his son's crib. His mind rests for a moment. This is what he's working for. Family. And this is what gives him peace. Then, almost as if by magic, a new tempo interrupts this quiet moment with his son. Yes! Barry moves quickly. He doesn't want to lose him. He scrambles downstairs to the nearest phone, away from his sleeping family.

Smokey, I need you in the Miracles back in the studio. I've got a new sound for shop around. Smokey's voice is heavy with sleep. All right, man. I'll see you in the morning. Now, Smoke. We've got to do it now. Barry hangs up his phone and gets stressed. He walks down to the studio and waits for everyone to arrive.

Smokey gets there first. It's 3 a.m. Barry taps out the new beat. He snaps his fingers and hums a more poppy melody. Smokey tries to sing along. Still not right. No, Smoke. The feel is off. Forget the blues angle. We want the kids to really dance to it.

Barry and Smokey tinker with the delivery. The rest of the Miracles start rolling in. After multiple tries, Smokey finally gets it to Barry's satisfaction. It's snappy enough, more fun. They're finally ready to record, but the Miracles' piano player hasn't made it in. They'll have to make do without him. Barry presses record, then slides onto the piano bench and pounds out the song. After toiling away for hours, Smokey Robinson and the Miracles manage to finish the song at dawn.

Barry runs into the booth and presses stop on the recorder. The new sound is perfect. He stifles a yawn. He can finally go to sleep now. The new version of Shop Around becomes Motown's first record to sell a million copies. Barry goes from city to city to talk DJs into playing it. He hangs out at one Philadelphia radio station for eight hours. He's determined to get a very powerful black DJ there to play it. He even goes out and gets the DJ a hot dog when he's hungry.

The DJ, impressed with Barry's get-go, agrees to play Shop Around on air. As the song travels across the airwaves, the phones instantly light up. Normally, when an act sells over a million copies, they have a gold record on their hand. But in the early days of Motown, Barry was too cheap to pay dues to the organization that kept track of sales. So instead, he painted a disc gold and framed it. ♪♪

Yeah, you got to do what you got to do because when you think about it, Buddy was getting it out the mud and he ain't had time to pay no dues. He trying to sell records. Yeah, you're not going to be able to tell if it's real gold or not behind the glass. It's all the same. Meanwhile, over at Stacks, they ain't making gold records just yet. The development is slow.

Their writing teams are less formalized. Songwriters work separately or together, whichever way the wind blows. Booker T. Jones, the leader of Booker T and the MGs, often collaborates with singer-songwriter William Bell. Isaac Hayes and David Porter pair up to write songs. They all arrive at Stax in different ways. And they're all very young, often in high school.

David Porter will come into the record store run by Stax co-owner Estelle Axton. David shares pages and pages of lyrics with Estelle. She will play Motown songs and deconstruct them.

He learns a lot from the way Highland, Dozier Highland structure their courses and their verses. But the only real similarity between Motown and Stax is their integrated staff. Black and white musicians work together at both labels. Stax becomes an oasis for the integrated community of artists in Memphis. It even attracts artists from other cities in the South. That pays off in surprising ways. ♪

It's 1962, Memphis. Jim Stewart looks out the window at Stax. The car carrying Johnny Jenkins and the Pine Stoppers from Macon, Georgia has just pulled up. Jim is impressed that Johnny has a driver. Jim turns around and surveys the studio he's prepared for the group. Now he's wondering if it's good enough, fancy enough.

He brushes off his insecurity as he goes out to greet Johnny and his band. After all, Johnny asked him to record an instrumental record here. Stax had enjoyed a hit earlier in the year with another instrumental, Green Onions by Booker T and the MGs.

As he escorts the group back to the studio, the driver carries microphones along with some other equipment too. Jim told him the studio had the only equipment they'd need, but the driver insists. Johnny brings up green onions. Booker T on the organ really makes the song. Gives it that Memphis sound. Jim nods. We were going to call it funky onions, but my sister thought it sounded too much like a cuss word. Here we are.

♪♪

The band starts playing and yikes, it does not sound good. Jim offers a few suggestions, but Johnny doesn't want to hear it. But Jim can tell he knows the song is rotten too. Jim likes Johnny. The left-handed guitarist has a really great performance style. And Jim can see he's going to be a star someday. And for that reason, Jim wants him to remember Stax fondly.

Maybe you guys can come back tomorrow. We're free. Johnny is more than happy to take that deal. The band is about to put away their instruments, but then the driver stands up. Anybody mind if I take a crack at the mic? Jim defers to Johnny. This is on his dime. Johnny gives the driver the go-ahead. A big, warm, earthy voice shakes the room. Jim's heart stops for a moment in the booth.

He didn't know until now that he's been waiting for this young man to appear. Jim rushes out the booth and extends his hand. What's your name? Otis. Otis Redding. When people think of stacks, Otis Redding is usually the name that comes to mind. His voice is synonymous with the label's sound.

Jim Stewart starts developing Otis right away. He collaborates frequently with Steve Cropper, the white guitarist for Booker T and the MGs. And the two men become fast friends. But Memphis was such a segregated city that once Otis and Steve got in trouble just for standing together on the sidewalk outside of Stax. The pair were taking a break together during one of their recording sessions. Steve smoking a Paul Maughan cigarette.

When a police car comes to a slow stop in front of the man, a cop leans out of the passenger window. Steve and Otis glance at each other, not moving, defying. They linger too long for the cop's taste. We'll arrest you right now if you don't go inside. Steve drops his cigarette and crushes it with the heel of his shoe. Otis crosses his arms. He's not moving before he's ready.

A couple of minutes pass. Another glance between the two musicians. They slowly turn and walk back inside, shoulder to shoulder.

Hey, reading this made me think about how much we romanticize so much music that comes from black folks, especially from this time, because it brought the cultures together. But when you really think about it, it's like, hey, they was doing this against the norms of that time. And in many instances going against, you feel me, just like what was properly expected and valued in terms of segregation.

Yeah. And it also makes you think about when you have something on your heart and when you have a talent that needs to be shared with the world, you're willing to come up against insurmountable obstacles. Again, like these are the types of things that for certain people, it would rightfully discourage them. They'd be like, I'm not dealing with this shit. I can't even stand outside and smoke a cigarette. But when you know you've got talent and you know that your passion for your art is such that

It's driving every part of your being. It's incredible to think that despite all of those obstacles, they pushed through to give us this incredible music. Hell yeah. Especially thinking like white supremacy is so crazy. White folks had the freedom to do everything they wanted to do at this time, except hang with black folks.

Meanwhile, Jim Stewart knows he's got to keep that racial tension out of Stacks. Black artists record there because it's known as an integrated oasis. But then he makes decisions that could undercut that oasis image. Like leaving white guitarist Steve Cropper in charge of the studio when Jim's not there. Leaving some of the black artists at Stacks feeling resentful of Cropper's new power.

Jim can't afford to let these resentments fest. Snack survival depends on unity. And all white leadership might be the label's downfall.

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It's 1963. Barry Gordy watches his chief engineer, Mike McClain, set up his latest handmade project in the quality control room. He'd help move things along faster, but electronics is not his thing. Mike, what's this tiny rectangle of scrap metal going to do for us again? Give us the edge over everybody else.

Barry likes the sound of that. Once he's done fiddling, Mike tells him to listen. Barry crosses his arm over his body and closes his eyes. The Supreme's voices wind their way out the box. Barry frowns. I know, I know, it sounds tinny, but that's radio. Mike shuts off the music. Barry's eyes pop open. He looks at the little metal box again. That song hasn't been released to the public yet.

Right. This isn't actual radio. It just mimics a car radio. Now we can hear our songs the way the general public is going to hear them. Barry smiles. Michael wasn't kidding when he said that little scrap metal box was going to give Motown the edge. Until now, Barry had been thinking of songs in terms of musical integrity. The backbeat, the swing, the melody, the feel. This little box changes all of that.

We can just adjust our mixes with the high-bys. Boosting the high frequencies of certain tracks will add to the brightness of our songs. I think Diana's voice is really going to benefit little Stevie Wonder too.

Barry slaps Michael on the back and calls him a genius. In his mind, he's imagining millions of transistor radios and car radios playing Motown music. Now they can really deliver music that meets them where they're at. Nobody else is mixing music this way. And now Motown is on the way to becoming the sound of young America, just like Barry planned.

The Motown sound owes so much to engineers like Mike McClain.

The innovations improve the recording process not only for listeners, but for musicians too. For example, the issue of live instruments blending together. The Snake Pit, Motown's small studio, didn't have room for amplifiers, so the musicians with electronic instruments couldn't hear themselves playing. Luckily, Mike and his team were able to come up with a fix.

They configure a five-instrument interface panel with variable controls and meters. The guitarist would then plug their instruments into the panel, giving them the ability to hear themselves through the monitor speaker. That way, everyone can set their own levels. Now here's where it gets technical. That panel lets each musician control how much mush is in their sound.

Mush? Mush? Talking about mush? Mush? It's such a technical term. Okay, it's not super technical, but it is musician speak. Mush is the distortion created by using overdrive pedals. Distorting the signal adds warmth and grit to the music. The engineers then soften loud passages with a limiter and a couple of equalizers. This process enhances the fat, round tones in Motown records. ♪

Mike McClain manages to solve another issue for Motown. He builds an eight-track recorder using Motown's existing three-track recorder. It's a big leap for the independent label.

Other companies of similar size are two or four track recorders. But now, big boys at Motown have eight tracks. They're playing on a new field. Having additional tracks streamlines the recording process. People could record their parts on individual tracks, meaning more opportunities to single out tracks for re-recording. Musicians wouldn't need to be called back into the studio.

As exciting as that was, Barry likes the 8-tracks because it saved him money.

Over at Stax, they're using horns to save money. Horns become an essential part of their sound. They're a convenient replacement for the background singers the label couldn't afford. Stax couldn't afford background singers because of their recording setup. Unlike Motown's fancy 8-track setup, at Stax, background singers had to record simultaneously on one mic. So if one of them messed up, the whole recording had to start over.

See, now, ain't nobody got time for that. No time at all. Famed producer Jerry Wexler once visited Stack's studio and instantly thought their equipment was a mess. But he loved the sound. It was warm and deep and had character. Except when it broke down.

It's summer 1963, a Saturday afternoon in Memphis. Jim gives Tom Dowd a quick tour of the Stax recording studio. Jerry Wexler sent Tom in hopes of speeding up production. Jerry wants a new single from Carla Thomas, but the Stax recording equipment is getting in the way. See the way the floor is sloped here? That's where the movie theater seats were. It gives our records that big sound.

Jim has impressed other engineers with that trivia before, but Tom doesn't seem phased by it. He's the house engineer at Atlantic in New York. He's used to cooler setups. He's used to having money, something Jim doesn't have much of. Show me the recorder. Jim leads Tom to an impacts minor recorder. He holds his breath as Tom expects it. Tom pushes a few buttons.

We ought to get a two-track recorder in here. My sister mortgaged her house for $2,500 to buy me that recorder five years ago. We were still in Brunswick. Ever heard of Brunswick? We were satellite records then. It's his long way of saying no. Tom sighs. Okay, I can fix this. Jim gets Tom a toolbox so he can take the recorder apart. Tom makes a call to have the parts sent to him on the next flight from New York.

Jim watches Tom work on a recorder for two days. Slowly, Tom opens up, becomes more chatty. He and Jim talk about music and who they've worked with. Turns out, Tom is impressed with the slow fall. He breaks down the mechanics for Jim. It deadens the sound. It controls the acoustic. Give Stax a sound that you can hear two seconds into the record.

Tom looks confused.

Do they always do head arrangements like that? Jim says this is the Stax way. He's proud of their methods. Rufus and the band get the song down in two takes. I think this is the best sounding record we've laid down at Stax yet. Jim sends Tom and the tape back to Jerry Wexler in New York. He hopes it will get Jerry off his back about Carla. It does, for a little while. The song is Rufus' biggest hit, Walking the Dog.

Walker and the Dog reaches number 10 on the Billboard Hot 100 in December 1963. It stays on the Hot 100 for 14 weeks. The mod subculture in England can't get enough of the song. British musician respond with covers.

Then, the Rolling Stones record a cover of Walking the Dog in 1964.

If you're listening to this, you should just be reminded that a lot of the cultural appropriation that you see on these days, TikToks or YouTubes or Instagrams, it's pretty, you know, American. Almost one would argue it's pretty Western, you know, to be able to steal the recipes or the sounds or ambiance of black folks, being able to have them redone by non-black people, typically whites, and them being able to, you know, get into new opportunities.

Yeah, I mean, it was so pervasive at the time. And it's frustrating to look back and realize how many songs I personally associate with the white artists that covered them versus the original artists, because I've just never heard it. They just, they almost got pushed out completely and replaced, which again, is like a perfect illustration of cultural appropriation. Yeah, it's just...

happens that way so much where cultural appropriation is so normalized that people don't even think it's a problem because it's been done so much and so long. And there's always people that's not Black that seems to be much more deserving as they feel of the accolades and the fruits that come from the labor of Black productions. But you know how it go. You know, the world don't love Black cultural productions and Black cultural products with the same energy.

The rise of British music is just one of the added pressures on Stax and Motown. Each label has their unique sounds, thanks to their innovations in recording. But it's their internal structures that might test their resilience. Motown's artists feel like they're a family, which leads to some artists struggling with the reality of Motown's strict corporate structure.

Stacks, on the other hand, operates like a family trying to incorporate. And now we all know when a corporation says they're working like a family, it's dysfunctional as hell. Stacks' dysfunction keeps it on the edge of collapse, and Motown might break if Barry doesn't learn how to bend. ♪

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It's early April 1964, Friday morning. Barry looks at his watch rather than the clock on the wall. It's more accurate.

The quality control meeting starts at 9 a.m. on the dot. It's 8.55, and a couple of people are missing, including Mickey Stevenson, the director of A&R. There's a $100 fine coming out of Mickey's pocket. Barry is annoyed. Heads of departments are supposed to be at the meetings five minutes before it starts.

Four minutes. Go ahead and lock the door. Mickey slips in just as the door is closing.

Three minutes before the meeting starts, Barry tells him he can pay his fine to Lucy. I'm here three minutes early. That should account for something. Charm radiates off him. Mickey has been with Motown from the beginning. He even put together their in-house band, the Funk Brothers. A breeze of sentimentality floats through Barry's heart. All right, Mickey.

Your fine is $50. Barry again instructs one of the producers to lock the door. He's very aware that Smokey isn't there. He's starting the meeting anyway. We've got to step up our game, folks. The Beatles took the top five spots in the Billboard 100 last week. I hear they're going to have five in the top ten this week, too. Mickey looks at his notebook.

Where is Smokey?

Barry looks at his watch. 9.05 a.m. He wants Smokey's ear on the songs they're going to listen to. Smokey has a good sense of what's going to be a hit. And Barry's always curious to see if their opinions match up. Let me in. Let me in. This is Smokey. I'll never be late again. Everybody laughs, except Barry. When someone goes to let Smokey in, Barry says, nope.

He has to be firm. He can't give in to Mickey and Smokey on the same day. He would look weak. Motown is a success because no one questions his leadership. Lucy leans over and whispers in his ear. The Beatles, top five. You better let Smokey Robinson in here. Barry sighs. Open the door. He'll be tougher later in the day. Smokey comes rushing in.

Motown manages to hold its own against the British invasion that year. Motown acts take the top spot on the Billboard 100 chart four times in 1964. The Supremes are responsible for three of those number ones. Where Did Our Love Go is the first to hit number one. The song, written by Holland Dossier Holland, was originally meant for the Marvelettes, but they didn't want it. It's a song that's been around for a long time.

Big

Barry takes note of the Supremes' immunity to the British invasion. Martha and the Vandellas are moving up the charts too. He decides to throw more resources behind the two girl groups. But the Marvelettes are not happy. They gave Motown one of its first hits. Now they're being pushed aside. In 1965, Barry sends a memo to Motown staffers that reads in part,

We will release nothing less than top-teen product on any artist. And because the Supremes' worldwide acceptance is greater than other artists, on them, we release only number one records. Historical Tea Time. Diana and Barry start a romantic affair in 1965.

But he's 36 and married at the time with kids, and she's 21. It's a big secret, and it goes on for years. Barry claims that he was always objective about Diana and that he never gave her an advantage. If she got more attention at Motown, it was because she was good. It was all about the work.

Now, I can imagine it must have been hard for him to be completely unbiased, but you're not going to catch me saying Barry Gordy was lying. Nah. He also says Diana Ross never took advantage of their relationship. But lucky for Barry, the Supremes were a bona fide hit. Meanwhile, Jim Stewart and Stacks had a promotion. Wish Stacks had Motown's champagne problems.

It's May 1966, Memphis. Al Bell is two steps into the lobby at Stax before he hears his name. Booker T wants to talk to him. We need to talk about money. Me and my band, we can't support our families. Al motions for Booker to walk with him to the office he shares with Jim. He's been hearing about house musicians struggling to make ends meet for the past few weeks. He's seen them yawning. The trumpet player of the Marquise even tries to sell Al a vacuum for extra money.

When they get to the office, Al offers Booker some water. But Booker just wants to get down to business. We work long hours in the studio making hits for Stax. We're developing the songs and the arrangements. But we only get paid for recordings. I'm right there with you guys. Al wipes his brow with a handkerchief from his back pocket. Booker won't sit down, so he can't sit down. It's not the same, Al. You get a salary.

I hear you. Let me work on it. Booker nods and heads for the door. He pauses before he leaves. We're tired of having to play clubs at night to feed our families. We can't keep working this hard for nothing. He's out the door before Al can promise to talk to Jim. Al plops into his chair, already exhausted. He needs to cool down and think. Stacks is making progress, but...

He can't afford to lose the musicians and songwriters that are helping the label grow. Booker's comment about Al's salary plays in his mind. I could make them employees. It's an easy solution to his problem. He pulls a calculator out of his desk drawer and crunches the numbers. He settles on $125 a week for each of their regular house musicians.

He'll go one step further with the Big Six, Booker T and the MGs, Isaac Hayes and David Porter. He's going to start a production pool for them. Atlantic paid Stacks a 15% royalty on records, so Stacks will give the Big Six a part of that 15%. Now Al will just have to talk Jim into it.

He's got his angle already. He can't lose the guys that create the stacked sound. After all, the sound is what made the Beatles want to record there in the beginning of April, even if it didn't work out.

The Beatles were honestly in love with the stack sound. Their manager, Brian Epstein, flies into town and gets in touch with the staff. The British band is going to record an album at Soulsville. The plan is to land a helicopter on the roof. They'll go in and record the album Revolver.

Jim is set to produce while Steve arranges the songs. Tom Dowd is going to fly in from New York to supervise. The Beatles are with the Stax, very black sound. But three white men are going to be in charge of the process. There's something fundamentally wrong about that.

And maybe the universe steps in to correct it for that very reason. Because as we all know, loose lips sink ships. And the loosest lips may have belonged to Estelle.

She told some band members to keep it on the down low that the Beatles plan to record at Stax. But that's a secret that's just too big to keep. They tell people who tell people and word spreads. Then, the final nail in the coffin. A March newspaper article with the headline, Beatles to record here.

The Beatles are forced to cancel. They record their album in London instead. When describing Stax in the article, the reporter writes, Stax was organized in 1959 and has had unusual success with Negro artists. Another front page headline that day in the same paper, Klansman Chief to Give Self Up.

Nothing illustrates the time so good like that headline knows two days, huh? The unusual successful Negroes being able to chart at the same time Klansman Chief is going to give itself up.

Hmm. So American. Yeah. But also just like the juxtaposition of, oh, it's so weird that black people are finding success in music. And meanwhile, who knows what the rest of the story is behind this headline. But obviously this Klaus man did something, but he's being given the opportunity to turn himself in. It's mind boggling. And as we finish unpacking this, too.

The ironic part about this is, though the newspaper headline is saying it's unusual success for Negro artists, although the sauce is being stole from these Negro artists that's putting all the people on and them getting their headlines, it's really capturing, you know what I'm saying, the reality of America through these two little sentences in the headline.

That's the reality of the world they were living in. It would be impossible for some of that racial tension to not creep in. I know when Al Bell first got the stacks, he was looking out for signs of racism. He and Jim shared an office from day one. Al felt like he could relax after he noticed something.

Jim didn't wipe off the phone after he used it. Seems like a low bar to us. It was a high bar to them. The two record labels roll with the internal struggles and demands. They handle the pressure of creating hits. Although Motown had more to handle on that front. Motown, N-Stacks are about to face a new turn in the civil rights movement.

And there are Black audiences watching and judging how these two labels participate and how they don't. Neither company can afford to lose the loyalty of their Black customers, not to mention Black DJs. Then there are the personal tragedies that rock both Motown and Stax to their core. The fallout will change them forever. ♪

If you like Black History for Real, you can listen early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. Before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey.

This is the second episode of our four-part series, Motown vs. Stacks. We use multiple sources when researching our stories, including Vanity Fair, Billboard Magazine, and Rolling Stone Magazine. A note, our scenes contain reenactments and dramatized details for narrative cohesiveness. ♪

Black History for Real is hosted by me, Consciously. And me, Francesca Ramsey. Black History for Real is a production of Wondery. This episode was written by Pia Wilson. Sound design by Aaron May. The theme song is by Terrace Martin. Lindsay Gomez is the development producer. The production coordinator is Taylor Sniffen. Sophia Martins is our managing producer. Our producer is Matt Gant. Morgan Givens and Dave Schilling are the senior producers.

Our senior story editor is Phyllis Fletcher. The executive producers for Wondery are Marshall Louis, Erin O'Flaherty, and Candice Manriquez-Wren. Wondery.

Hey, I'm Mike Corey, the host of Wondery's podcast, Against the Odds. In each episode, we share thrilling true stories of survival, putting you in the shoes of the people who live to tell the tale. In our next season, it's July 6th, 1988, and workers are settling into the night shift aboard Piper Alpha, the world's largest offshore oil rig.

Home to 226 men, the rig is stationed in the stormy North Sea off the coast of Scotland. At around 10 p.m., workers accidentally trigger a gas leak that leads to an explosion and a fire. As they wait to be rescued, the workers soon realize that Piper Alpha has transformed into a death trap. Follow Against the Odds wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen ad-free on Amazon Music or the Wondery app.