18 | Square Biz | Motown Vs. Stax
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Frankie, did you grow up listening to R&B music? Oh my God, I still can't get over you calling me Frankie. I was like, is my dad here?

Yes, I did grow up. I mean, listen, I grew up in a very black household. My dad was listening to all of the oldies when I was growing up. Oldies like what though? Oh, like Temptations and the Commodores and Gladys Knight and the Pips and Earth, Wind and Fire is like my dad's favorite. Yeah.

But I grew up listening to, you know, the classics of our generation. I love 702. I loved Mary J. Blige. You know, Destiny's Child, Aaliyah. I listened to all the good stuff.

What about you? Yeah, yeah. I grew up listening to a lot of those, too. I realized from your talking is that my parents had me hella young and my mama had me listening to like Mary J. Blige a lot. You know what I'm saying? A little Monica, a little SWV, you know what I mean? Things like that, you know? Maybe a little Peggy Scott Williams, a little Johnny Taylor. You know what I'm saying? Some of like the southern new school R&B blues from the 90s.

Yes.

You see me cleaning up and you ain't, yeah, yeah, it got ugly. Yeah. I mean, the way that music can connect to memories is so powerful. My dad would make me like mixtapes and he would pretend that he was like a radio DJ and he'd be like, all right, this next song is No Natalya Francesca. And then he would like put it together. It was really cute. Okay, pops. Okay. Okay. Okay.

During the 1950s, Black music of all kinds, I'm talking rhythm and blues, bebop, jazz, and rock and roll, it was thriving. Not just in Black circles, though. You wouldn't hear the so-called race music in mainstream stations, but the records were being purchased more and more by young white listeners. As the 1960s ramped up and the winds of political change started blowing,

The sound of the music began to change as well. Two record labels, Motown and Stax, would become major players in shaping the sound. The story we're telling today is about the birth of these two music powerhouses and the innovators who got them off the ground. Let's get into some Black history for real. ♪

It's winter 1959, a Detroit winter. It's so cold, Barry Gordy Jr. can see the breath rush out of his mouth. He's trying to put a sign into place. The ladder creaks. He strains to push the wooden sign further across the top of the large picture window at 2648 West Grand Boulevard. Pops, did I get it right?

His father gestures for him to keep pushing. It reminds Barry of summers working for his father's construction company as a teenager. His father made sure Barry Jr. and his brothers knew how to build something that lasts. Pops Barry stands in the center of a small group of family friends and singers. They're here to celebrate the opening of Motown Records' new offices. Barry had purchased the studio earlier in the year, and it's just about ready to open shop.

He doesn't stop adjusting the sign until Hitsville, USA is perfectly centered. The bright blue letters pop against the stark white background of the hand-printed sign. Hitsville, USA. When people ask him about the slogan, he says it's a hip name for a factory where hits are going to be built. It's a clever nod to the Ford factory way down the block.

But really, it's Barry's business plan: make hits and nothing but hits. He looks around. He can see everything from up here. Across the street, there's a small football field. The Fisher Building, the iconic Detroit skyscraper, is just past seven other houses. All the houses look just like Barry's Western-style blue and white bungalow.

Barry makes his way down the ladder, back to earth. Everybody claps. The applause is as much for themselves as it is for him. See, his family had agreed to loan him $800 whole dollars from the Bear-Barry Co-op, the family's private savings account. The money was held at the Home Federal Savings and Loan Association of Detroit.

Each family member and each of their spouses added $10 a month to the account. But only the eight Gordy siblings and their parents voted to approve loans. The meeting about Barry's loan had been tense. Not everybody was on board with Barry's dream of owning a record label. His sister Esther was the toughest to convince. Esther was worried about racism in the industry.

Local distributions would be easy for him. He had connections as a songwriter. But racism could hinder Berry's chances of getting national distribution. And that's if he could get the proposed label off the ground. She also knew that Berry had a penchant for the fast life. She noticed that he had grown fascinated by the pimps and they big money.

But the family had always kept Barry honest and they weren't going to fail him now. Esther was overruled, but the distribution issue remains front of mind for Barry. That and the other stipulations to the loan. Cause see he's got to pay the loan back with 6% interest in two years. Failure means to sign over future royalties to the family and Barry ain't going for it. They want him to secede though.

They helped him renovate his two-story house into offices and convert the garage into a recording studio.

They'll also work in the business. His parents and his brother George will advise him as staff in the office of president. His sisters, Esther and Anna, will be in talent management and artist development. Esther will probably also keep an eye on the family's investment. That's fine with Barry, though. It'll give him more motivation to succeed.

And Sister Lucy won't be lured into the business. She hugs Barry. Congratulations, Junior. This is really going to be something. Barry flashes his charming smile. Thanks, sis. Why don't you leave that old assistant job and join us? But Barry's charm doesn't work.

Lucy reminds him that her job with the Michigan and Indiana Army Reserves is why she's able to loan him money in the first place. And when he gets in a pinch in the future, I won't be getting any pitches this time. Lucy looks at Barry with furrowed eyebrows. I believe in you, Junior, but I ain't quitting my job. Unemployment in Detroit is already too high. Lucy pats him on the shoulder and moves on.

Speech! We cold! Sounds like Smokey Robinson. Barry walks up a few steps in front of the building and clears his throat.

See that sign up there? When you pass under it and step into Hitsville, know that you will be expected to work. You will do something. Singing, dancing, writing, producing, selling, managing. You're going to be doing something. We are here to make hits. We will have challenges, but the hits are the goal, nothing less. ♪

Barry's got a tough road ahead of him. Not only does he have to pay his family back, he's got four kids to support. Four of them. Three from his first marriage and a newborn with his fiancee. And the city feels like it's about to pop.

The NAACP and the ACLU are shining a light on police brutality. Black people are protesting for better housing and jobs. He's not sure they're going to buy music made to appeal to the white student. But he's got to get national distribution. White teens are the way forward.

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From Wondery, this is Black History For Real, where we chronicle the stories of movers and shakers from Black history and all over the world. The stories will inspire you, educate you, and more often than not, leave you shaking your damn head. I'm Consciously. And I'm Francesca Ramsey. This week, we're starting our four-part series on Motown vs. Stax. The Supremes and the Four Tops vs. Otis Redding and Isaac Hayes.

Motown and Stax Records created a pivotal moment in Black music history, the birth and evolution of soul. And they did it in the hotbox of social unrest that is the 1960s. This is episode one, Square Biz. In 1959, Motown isn't yet the Motown we know today. Barry Gordy Jr. calls his new record label Tamla Records.

The odds were stacked against them. Detroit has a significant black population, but the city itself is outright hostile to black communities and black businesses. Historic black neighborhoods like Black Bottom are destroyed under the guise of urban renewal. Housing gets tight for black people because the mayor wants to protect white neighborhoods by blocking proposed federal housing projects for black families.

Landlords are gouging Black people on rent, too. Blacks pay 20 to 40 percent more rent than whites in equivalent apartments, according to some research. It's a payday rent. You have to have a job.

In 1959, Detroit unemployment for Black workers reaches 16%. For white workers, it hovers around 6%. Black people start leading unemployment marches. Barry looks at what's happening around him and says, "Nah."

I'm still making records. He has a dream and a loan to pay back. Yeah, yeah, yeah. He'd also seen some success as a songwriter. He and his sister Gwen had credits on Jackie Wilson's Lonely Teardrops album. Beep, beep, beep.

But Barry also had failures. He'd previously opened a 3D record store selling jazz music and 3D glasses. His father invested money from the family bank. His brother George invested his own money too. Barry sells jazz. He loves the complexity of it. But everybody comes in looking for the blues. He decides he's going to teach his customers to appreciate jazz. They don't want to be taught. ♪

I'm trying to figure out why is he selling 3D glasses? Well, according to Barry's autobiography, he says that it was the technology of the time, which may be true.

But the business went belly up. He went bankrupt. He did learn something, though. People liked the blues for its simple lyrics and repetitive chords. Later on, he applies what he learns to the music he produces. He gets a job at a Lincoln Mercury plant, which gives him a game plan for running his label. Clean efficiency. In 1957, he starts looking for acts to sign. He's determined to make this work.

Barry takes a liking to a nightclub act called the Matadors. The group is led by a young singer-songwriter named Smokey Robinson. Barry and Smokey really hit it off. In 1959, Gordy runs into singer Marv Johnson at a record store and convinces him to sign, too. It's 1959.

Barry paces the floor in his office, thinking he's got a hit on his hands. Marv Johnson's Come to Me is in regular rotation at Detroit's two R&B stations. And black audiences are buying the records in droves. Now that Barry talked white DJ Tom Clay and WJBK into playing the song, white audiences are digging the song, too.

Any other man would be satisfied with that. But not Barry, though. A local hit isn't going to keep Tamela in the black. So what are you going to do, man? Barry stops pacing and looks up. He forgot Smokey was in the room. Smokey reminds him that the company can't afford to split their money with another distributor. Barry tilts his head. Not locally, no. But I heard United Artists is interested in taking the record nationwide.

Okay, what's the problem? Barry rubs his chin and starts pacing again. Trying to play with the big boys can cost big money. You can lose your business if you're not careful. Barry's trying to figure out all the angles, like what United artists will want and what he's willing to pay. Smokey walks over to the phone and picks up the receiver. Call them. We drove 50 miles through a blizzard to pick up those records. We got to sell them.

Barry takes it, looking through his Rolodex real quick. He dials his DJ friend Larry Dixon over at WCHB. Hey, Larry, it's me, Barry. Give me a meeting with the contact over at United. Smokey Robinson elbows him gently in the side. Barry clears his throat. Excuse me, please.

United flies Barry out to New York on their dime. They really want this record. Barry negotiates a deal. The cost? Marv Johnson. United buys out his contract. Upside, they pay Barry $25,000 for it.

Learning about Barry Gordy, I'm seeing that he come from a very black bourgeois background. You know what I'm saying? If I put this in context in the time and the fact that, you know, a lot of black people was trying to rub nickels together. He had the privilege in a blessed family structure that allowed him to be able to chase his dreams. I think it is a story that needs to be said more often because sometimes we only relegate blackness and black stories to like being like always already impoverished.

Yeah. And I think it's also just important too, because so often people are comparing themselves to others like, why haven't I done this yet? Or I should, I wish I could have done blah, blah, blah. And it's like $800 back then was a lot of money today.

To be able to ask your parents for, and thank goodness that they had the resources to your point, but you're correct. Not everybody has access to that kind of money in order to invest in their dreams. Yeah. And just to put it in context, $25,000 is equivalent to over $200,000 today. Wow. You know what I mean? We know that Barry Gordon was able to lock down him a national distribution deal that come to me, it reached $1,000.

30 on the billboards, Hot 100, and number six on the national R&B charts. And I think it's really important to remember, this is pre-streaming. So in order to reach those numbers, people had to call their radio station. Back in the day, you had to call the radio station and beg for that song to be played. Or you had to go play it on your jukebox at the local nightclub or bar or wherever it may be. And today...

People are doing some shady stuff to get their songs up on the charts. You know, they're releasing special editions of records, streaming. You might see people on social media having big stream parties to try and get the listens up, whether it be on players or on social media sites, on TikTok, plays from songs on TikTok videos. Those count towards streams.

So these numbers back then are a really big deal because it was a more genuine, in my opinion, authentic version of the chart success versus the chart success that we're familiar with today.

And people gaming the system. You know, why is every song one minute? So you got to listen to it 10, 20 times before you like know what's going on. Oh my God, it's playing again, you know? So it's definitely a different time when it comes to music and chart success and sales today. I will also say that, you know, you had to buy a physical record back then if you wanted to listen to it at home. Now you don't need to. So putting that in context, I think is really important.

Yeah. And the last thing you see that black people's relationship with music always been this real transactional right here. You feel me? If you think about it, you know, if the record company bought the record for, you know, $25,000, that mean they probably made a quarter million off of it. You know what I'm saying? Because they doing business. So you think about how a lot of black artists just get reduced down to being sounds and lyrics and assets. I feel like it starts to really illustrate how black folks deal with music now in the industry.

Over in Tennessee, a white record producer is also dreaming of making big, big hits. But first, he's got to keep his record label afloat.

Jim Stewart on Satellite Records, producing country and rockabilly pop music. Say it one more time. Rockabilly pop music. I ain't never heard that before. You got to make sure you need that within that too. Rockabilly. Listen to that rockabilly. Yeah, man. The number one rockabilly in the country right now coming from a white man from Tennessee. Yes. Jim started Satellite in 1957 in Memphis.

He already failed as a country music fiddler, but he could stay in the game as a producer. He might also make some money with publishing rights. He figured out it would cost about $1,000 to get started. That's about $11,000 in 2024 dollars. He got himself a few business partners and Satellite Records was born. The name was probably inspired by the launch of a Russian satellite named Sputnik.

They produced their first record in a garage. It belonged to his wife's uncles. Only one radio station would play it. And that's only because the artist was one of Jim's partners and he worked at the station.

Jim was desperate to save his label. He asked his sister Estelle Axton for help. He knew she loved music almost as much as she loved him. He just needed better recording equipment. Estelle convinced her husband to mortgage the house. She and Jim used the money to purchase an Ampex 350 monoconsole tape recorder and to buy out his original investors.

They get $2,500, about $28,000 today. It was a huge risk. She and her husband could lose their home if her little brother failed. New equipment ready to go, Satellite puts out a rockabilly record by guitarist Don Willis. They pressed 300 copies of Boppin' High School Baby. Then it dawned on them that they had to distribute the record. He needed to build relationships with distributors and DJs to do that.

Too late for bopping high school, baby. What's crazy is even in the late 1950s, early 1960s, black money and white money don't hit the same. I would say that both of these men have similar socioeconomic backgrounds. But when you add the intersectionality in there and how, you know, white kinship and white privilege, you know what I'm saying? Kind of.

impacts how you have access to resources and things like that, opportunities. It's a lot to be said how Jim was able to stumble his way through a record label as opposed to Barry having to have a strategic, you know what I'm saying, methodology of how he was going to follow through and all this little planning.

Yeah, but even to your point about being able to mortgage his sister's house, you got to own a house in order to take out a mortgage on it. So again, coming from economic means is the way a lot of businesses are able to get off of the ground. And also, I just, again, I think keeping that in mind is so important because we often talk about entrepreneurship as this way for people to create generational wealth, but

But unfortunately, you need that safety net in order to be able to take some of those risks in the first place. And we see both of these gentlemen got it. You feel me? In all intents and purposes, I would say they are well-seasoned middle class, you know what I'm saying? 1950s, 1960s, upper middle class, though, to be clear. Upper middle. Not working. This right here is a little bit of different wealth. You know what I'm saying? A little bit of different wealth. Yeah.

Later in the year, Jim and his label were kicked out of the garage. A friend offered him space in a storage facility in Brunswick, Tennessee for free. It was about 20 minutes outside of Memphis. Jim leaped at the chance. The long wooden structure was horrible for a studio. No matter how much burlap they hung, it was still a good idea.

The sound bounced like crazy. There was a railroad nearby too. Trains seemed to pass by every time they were recording. By 1959, Jim gets desperate. He couldn't let Estelle lose her own. Jim's wife operates a malt shop on the property to help cover some of the costs of the studio. Jim starts looking for something new. Country and rockabilly ain't it. He's introduced to R&B by a musician friend.

Jim believes this might be the answer to his problem. He hears about a local black doo-wop group from his nephew. Jim asks his nephew to bring the group to a recording session. That group is the Veiltones. The Veiltones had already recorded a couple demos at Sun in 1958.

But the songs were never released. When a group arrives at Jim's studio in New Brunswick, they are excited. And Jim already has a song for them, written by two local musicians. The song, Full in Love, becomes the first R&B record released by Satellite. Jim has to figure out how to promote this record. He's never released an R&B record before.

He goes to black radio station WDIA in Memphis to get some airplay. There he meets local DJ and singer Rufus Thomas, who agrees to spin the record. Jim also signs a distribution deal with Mercury Records for $500. He's reinvigorated. Fall in Love doesn't flop, but it doesn't do numbers like Jim hopes it will.

It does signal a new direction for the label. He produces a few more R&B records, but nothing hits. Jim decides to move operations back to Memphis. The pool of musicians there is much bigger. Jim and Estelle lease the Capitol Theater in Memphis, smack dab in the middle of a mostly black neighborhood. The rent is $150 a month. A

about $1,600 a month in 2024 dollars. They renovate the abandoned theater into a recording studio, label offices, and a record store.

Say, man, it's a fine line between cultural appropriation and cultural appreciation. And I actually would be up to the negotiating of what is this? You know what I'm saying? I guess I'd be more interested in their practices. You feel me? Like how their practices was and then me knowing historically they probably was... I mean, the fact that

he didn't have any relationships at black radio stations and had no black community tells me that it's not appreciation, it's appropriation. He was just like, oh, this is a great opportunity.

And you see this a lot. It doesn't just happen in music. It doesn't just happen with black folks. It happens with all marginalized communities. But especially when it comes to black folks, it does feel like our art is always up for consumption and for somebody else to profit off of.

And so the thing I feel like I say every single episode is this continues to happen to this day. There are lots of people making black music that are not black people and don't have community with any black people, but they're very happy to profit off of music.

our work and our innovation yeah yeah and i guess now that we've been historically accurate i say this is probably a legacy of just music in america of people being able to set up shop with the cultural productions of black folks you feel me the blood the sweat the tears the suffering the happiness and being able to flip it into some profits and you know maybe you'll get a cadillac or you know i'm saying you'll get you feel me a nice shiny suit but they keeping them royalties in them publishing because i guarantee you feel me based off of

How we even telling the story? Just know for the listeners, he wasn't being very liberal and giving away those publishing rights. You know what I'm saying? Guaranteed. Guaranteed.

Satellite Records has its first R&B hit in 1960 with Rufus Thomas' Cuz I Love You. Rufus' 17-year-old daughter Carla is also featured on the single. Atlantic Records starts sniffing around and offers Jim and Estelle a five-year production and distribution deal with Atlantic Records. It's a handshake deal with Jerry Wexler, a white music journalist turned music producer.

Jerry is credited with coming up with the term rhythm and blues. In 1948, he was hired away from Billboard magazine to work at Atlantic Records a few years later. At that time, it was a small indie label there that focused on black music. Jerry helped grow Atlantic into a giant in the music industry.

But hold on, hold on. We ain't gonna skip over that. I'm a student of Huey P. Newton. Huey P. Newton said that power is the ability to define the phenomenon and make it act in a desired manner. I find it very interesting that a white man was able to take the name of race music and flip it into rhythm and blues and the name stuck. You know what I'm saying? Something about the power of being able to name and define. No, I mean, that is...

Again, it speaks to who's able to write the narrative, but who's also able to profit off of it. And so he's able to be credited with this thing that otherwise he didn't really have a personal connection to, you know? Right.

what in the anthropology, white supremacy, colonialism, cultural appropriation is going on here? You just name it. I just, I feel like it's Rhythm and Blues. I'm going to call it Rhythm and Blues. I mean, not to give him too much credit, but it is a good name. And like, you know, I like that you can say it's Rhythm and Blues, but then our

be like it does really kind of like roll off the tongue in that way so again credit where credit is due but I think you're correct in in just being critical of who gets the opportunity to make these decisions hey Jerry pay it forward in publishing bro pay it forward to the Jerry estate I'm sure whatever black folks y'all got them first musics from you feel me they got family and descendants around here pay it forward

Carla Thomas' record, Gee Whiz, Look at His Eyes, is a big hit for the label. So big that another record company, also called Satellite, takes notice. They threaten to sue Jim and Estelle over the name. The sibling producers aren't going to let something like this stop their hustle. Stax is born. It's a combination of the two first letters of their last names, Stuart and Axton.

G-Wiz reaches number 10 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart and number 5 on the Billboard R&B chart. It's just what Stax needs. And it makes Jerry zero in on Carla.

It's 1961. Jim and Estelle are dressed to the nines. They have a meeting with Jerry Wexler from Atlantic Records. He's flown down from New York City to Memphis. He wants to talk about Carla. Specifically, he wants to hammer out how Atlantic and Stax are going to better promote her. Jim has a second agenda: get some of that shine for other Stax artists.

Jim and Estelle meet with Rufus and Carla at Memphis' famous Peabody Hotel on Union and Second Street. It's the fanciest hotel in the downtown area. Colorful seating and plush carpeting. Golden chandeliers hang from the ceiling as big and as bright as stars. But Carla is most excited to see the ducks in the lobby's marble fountain. The group barely gets through the front door before security stops them. The Peabody is segregated. ♪

The security guard gestures to Rufus and Carla. You go to the back and use the service elevator. Rufus gets heated immediately. Hell no. If Jim could melt in the floor, he would. He's that embarrassed. Not by Rufus' standoff with the security guard. He blames himself for forgetting the Peabody is segregated.

He should have just suggested another place. There aren't many in Memphis that would accept an interracial group like this, but he could have found one if he had just thought about it. His mind has been preoccupied with making this deal with Wexler. The group calms Rufus down and convinces him to go around the bank. This is for Carla's future. We'll all go together, Jim chimes in.

The group dodges rats and slop thrown out in the alley as they walk to the rear entrance of the hotel. Rufus is still cursing out the security guard under his breath. They walk in as quickly as they can so the stink doesn't get on their fancy clothes. Finally, they get onto the elevator. It's grimy. They all huddle together.

On the way up, Jim thinks for the first time about Black people facing this type of humiliation every day. He starts to blush. He looks over at Estelle and wonders if she's feeling the same way. Jerry Wexler opens the door to his suite. He doesn't even get to say hello before Rufus walks in. At the fifth stage of grief, acceptance, he feels defeated. Here it is again, walking through the garbage cans.

Jim gets Jerry up to speed on what's happening. Jerry does his best to cheer up everybody. Let's order room service. You can get whatever you want. Jim tries to get himself back into a business frame of mind. Expensive food helps. So we're agreed, Jim says. Carla's going to perform in a showcase with other singers in New York City. And Atlantic is going to provide more promotional support to Stax. That's right.

Jim's face breaks into a smile. He jumps up from his seat and vigorously shakes Jerry's hand. He got what he wanted.

It's so wild to think that Jim and Estelle and Jerry are like on a totally different planet. Like when we use the phrase two different Americas, this is a perfect example. He just forgot that the hotel was segregated, just never even thought about it. And is now having, you know, a black artist, two black people that are on his label strolling in there, putting their lives in danger, right?

And he doesn't even, it's like he's embarrassed. But again, it's like he's still centering himself and he's not actually prioritizing the artist on his label, which just kind of reconfirms what we were talking about before about appropriation versus appreciation. Like, do you actually really care about the Black talent on your label if you can't even be bothered to make sure that the meeting is taking place somewhere that they're allowed to be? And you're like, well, we'll all walk through the garbage together. No, no.

Hey, I just go over this one more time because it really just captured everything. On the way up, Jim thinks for the first time about black people facing this type of humiliation every day. This is 1959. And this is a grown ass man. Yeah. But we have that right now. We have that right now. Where every single time, you know, there's some sort of like story around racial injustice happening.

You see people who are like, I just can't believe it. I just can't believe that this is happening. It's like, no, you have chosen not to acknowledge what is happening because you don't need to. You're able to move through the world and not think about what it's like for marginalized people, for black people, for queer people, for undocumented people, for whoever it might be that has a different experience than you. And that is a privilege, right?

Oh, yeah. We don't get to not think about that. Yeah. And let me just push this a little further. So our words ain't meant. You see what I'm saying? We talk about white privilege, white people. We're not saying that you ain't never been through nothing. You know what I'm saying? Poverty is real and sexism is real and homophobia and transphobia is real. We saying that you don't experience oppression because of your skin color. You see what I'm saying? So when we talking about the privilege of ignorance, it's,

It's the privilege of being able to ignore particular implications or realities because it don't got no real material implications on your body. And it's crazy that this man is making music with Black folks. You feel me? I'm talking about being able to save their homes. And the first time he thought about Black folks' reality is doing what? I'll see you.

After the group left the hotel, the police came knocking on Jerry's door. Hotel staff who'd provided them the room service had reported him for unwarranted miscegenation or sexual race mixing. That's why Vice showed up instead of Beat Cops.

Believing he might be arrested, Jerry dashed off a note to the legal team at Atlantic and threw it in the mail chute in the hallway. The cops didn't arrest him. They just wanted to harass him for sharing a meal with an integrated group in his hotel suite. Over in Detroit, Barry concentrates on making Motown a household name. Barry has his first chart topper with Shop Around by the Miracles in early 1961.

Then in the spring of the same year, he produces another number one record with Please Mr. Postman by The Marble. Barry fought to keep the momentum going with the Twisted Postman, a spin on Chubby Checker's hit, The Twist. Twisted Postman peaked at number 34 on the pop chart in early 1962. With all this success, Barry should have money coming in the bank.

But his distributors pay him more slowly than anticipated. Some of them even go out of business without paying. These are small distributors. Motown's hits are stressing their business models. Many of them try to increase staff and infrastructure to handle the new demands, but they wind up overextending themselves financially. Barry asks his sister Lucy to take over Motown's account department.

She tracks down enough money to help keep Motown going. The rest is up to bed. He's brought Motown too far to fail now. Then he's to find the right talent in Detroit to help Motown survive.

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It's early October 1963. 19-year-old Diana Ross runs through the door to the studio. She wants to get in there a little early. Holland Dozier Holland has written a new song for the no-hit Supremes. That's their nickname at Motown now. They were signed in 1961. Two years and seven singles. Not even a blip on the charts. She's nervous Barry might dump them.

Diana drapes her jacket over a nearby chair in the studio. She can see the Holland brothers, Brian and Eddie, chatting with Lamont Dozier in the sound booth. She offers them a gentle smile and a soft wave. She's not sure they can see her, but she wants them to like her. They've written hits for other acts, like Heat Wave for Martha and the Vandellas. This is their first time writing for the Supremes.

She warms up her voice with a few exercises. She hopes Barry doesn't come in. He'll make her nervous. She thinks back to the group's first audition with Barry. She, Florence, and Mary sang four songs a cappella for him. They were calling themselves the Primettes back then, not even out of high school. They had no idea how real professional singers presented themselves. Luckily, Barry thought they were talented, just too young. He told them to come back after they graduated.

They know so much more now. Florence and Mary dash into the room bubbling with energy. They take off their sunglasses and tuck them into their jacket pockets.

Florence sits down. She's visibly excited. Smokey said hi to us when we passed him outside. Diana thanks her for passing along the message. Hi back. They all giggle. She knows Smokey Robinson from when she used to live at 635 Belmont. Smokey lived five houses down from hers. That was before she and her family had to move into the Brewster projects. That's where she met Florence and Mary. All right, girls, you ready?

Need to listen to the demo again? The Supremes say, we're ready in unison. Diana is hopeful about this one. It's a happy song with a good beat. She thinks to herself, it's got a chart. It has to. Diana's right.

When the Love Light Starts Shining Through His Eyes is released on Halloween 1963. The song reaches number 23 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart and number two on the R&B charts. Barry makes Holland Dozier Holland producers for the Supremes. They succeeded where he and Smokey Robinson had failed. He takes note of how the right songwriting producing team can send an act skyrocketing. He and Smokey aren't the solution to everything.

Over at Stax, Jim Stewart is looking for a solution to his troubled relationship and black DJs across the country. They see Stax as just another white owned company profiting off of black music.

It's late summer 1965. Jim Stewart arrives at Washington, D.C. radio station WUST on the corner of 9th and B Streets. When he gets off the elevator to the floor where the lobby is, a receptionist is waiting for him. She tells him that popular DJ Al Bell is ready to see him. Jim follows the receptionist down the hall. They walk past the ballroom that hosted volunteers for the March on Washington a couple of years ago.

He makes a mental note to bring that up with Al. Jim remembers how much Al cares about civil rights. They met a few years ago when Al was still a DJ in Memphis. Al is playing a lot of Stax records on the air in Memphis. He still gives Stax serious airtime now that he's in a different market. The receptionist drops Jim off in the small break room. Jim looks so confused about where they're meeting that Al feels the need to explain. My show is on next. I want to be near the poof.

Jim tries to recover and be more cool. When Al offers him a coffee, he takes it black with two sugars. He doesn't want to make a fuss or make Al feel like he in service to a white man. Since I know we don't have a lot of time, I'll get right down to brass tacks, Jim says. Al, I want you on my team. I want you to come back to Memphis and work for Stacks. You'd be our in-house promotions manager.

Jim emphasizes the word manager. He wants Al to know he wouldn't be some kind of lackey. Al sits back. Jim takes that as a sign that Al isn't interested. His stomach falls. But he can't walk out of here without Al on board. Al knows everyone. He'll be able to sell Stax to black DJs in a way Jim can't. You'd be working a lot with Deanie Parker, who joined Stax last year as our publicist. Jim can see Al thinking.

She sang that song, Until You Return, right? Jim answers yes and compliments Al on knowing the Stax catalog. Then he tells Al that Deanie prefers working behind the scenes. She didn't have the stomach for doing shows in the South. She can't go into restaurants through the front door, can't use the bathroom at the gas station. Yeah, being a Negro in the South ain't easy. Shit. He shouldn't have reminded Al how hard it is to be black in Memphis.

At Stax, we don't tolerate that racist junk. Everybody works together, black, white, whatever. Jim is about to bring up the ballroom in the March on Washington when Al preempts him. What you paying? Al might as well have punched him in the gut. Times are lean at Stax. Since black DJs aren't playing their singles that much, sales have lagged. He decides to be honest with Al about what he has to offer. Stax will pay you $100 a week, and Atlantic will too.

Al looks at his watch. Listen, Jim, it's been nice talking to you, but I've got to get ready for my show. I'll think about it. Jim is desperate. What will it take to get you to sign on? Al tells Jim that he makes a lot more money than Jim is offering. Besides his DJ gig, he owns his own record label, though tiny next to Stax. He does promotions. 200 isn't going to cut it.

With Stacks' $90,000 in debt, Jim feels Al is his only chance to turn the label around. All right, I promise you, Al, I'll get you more. You'll be back in Memphis at Stacks before you know it. Jim hopes he sounds confident. Al looks him up and down and smiles. I'm looking forward to it. As soon as Jim walks out of the building, he searches for the nearest phone. He pulls a business card out his pocket and dials.

Jerry Wexler answers. Jim skips over all the niceties. He thinks about all the work he's put into Stacks. Renovating that theater. Esther's faith in him. The loans she took out to support him. He wasn't going to lose all that. Not with Atlantic has deep pockets. We need more money for Al. And you're going to give it to me.

Man, white entitlement, hustlers take risk. Shout out to you, Jerry and Jim. And, you know, the music industry is this. This is the roots, really. This is really why it was normalized to a jump. That's what I would say, really. You feel me? How black people get scapegoated and how we get used and abused in the music industry, you can see it was a part of the intelligent design from the jump. ♪

Jerry doesn't come through with more money to entice Al. He thinks $100 a week is enough of a commitment from Atlantic. Frustrated, Jim solves the problem himself. He offers Al part ownership in the label if he can turn the company around in a year. Al agrees. At 25 years old, he becomes an executive at Stax. Al hits the ground running.

He becomes involved in production and engineering. He even writes songs. He inspires everyone to be more productive. The laid-back atmosphere gets a jolt of adrenaline. Al looks to Barry Gordy as a role model. He thinks of Barry as a master of taking soul music and packaging it for white people. Al credits Barry with Motown danceable melodies and rhythms. Barry also established Motown as a sophisticated label.

Barry's also the most successful black man in the music business right now. Motown artists on television, they're featured in magazine spreads. Barry uses the slogan, the sound of young America in the billboard ad for the first time. He's even been interviewed by the media. He appears on popular TV game shows to tell the truth as a celebrity guest. Al wants to be successful in a shorter amount of time.

Jim focuses on producing great records. He only feels comfortable leaving his part-time job as a banker when Al comes on board. Stax's releases regularly hit the top 10 on the R&B charts. Some songs even cross over onto the pop charts.

Jim feels a deep satisfaction when Jerry Wexler starts sending Atlantic acts to Stax Studio to record. Jerry recognizes Jim's talent as a producer. Al starts thinking about Stax as more of a brand, a grittier alternative to Motown. He uses his deep connections to promote Stax as the real thing. He talks about the label to any DJ who will listen.

Al sees that more and more white kids are listening to black music. He and Jim want to serve them the Stax sound, deeply soulful and decidedly Southern. He turns Stax around in his first nine months on the job. In that timeframe, the company generates gross revenues of more than $1.5 million.

Al puts Soulville, USA out on the old theater marquee. It's a direct challenge to Barry's Hitsville, USA sign. If Motown is airy and beautiful, Stax is down to earth and down to get dirty if it means being authentic. Motown is careful. Stax, bold. In contrast to Stax, Barry is cultivating a classy vibe. He needs to make sure white America isn't threatened by the blackness of his artists. ♪

So to make sure you feel me, I'm interpreting this correctly. The stacks, the record label that was made by the white dude is trying to be more raw. In Motown, the record label made by the black dude is trying to engineer a way to make it more appealing to white people. The grass is always greener. Yeah, that is very interesting. Very, very interesting.

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It's April 1965. The Supremes could be unruly on a good day, but today they're really wild. The first thing etiquette instructor Maxine Powell sees as she walks into her office is the girls practicing a new dance. Each girl has one foot out in front of the other, arms stretched out.

They're shaking the top halves of their bodies while their heads bob up and down. Fine, they're young. They're going to keep up with trends. However, there is one thing that is absolutely unacceptable about this new dance. Maxine frowns. You are protruding the buttocks. Whenever you do a naughty step like the shake, add some class to it.

Before Diana can dare her to show them, Maxine stretches out her arms. She starts shaking slowly but deliberately from the hips up. The difference between her and the girls? She smiles the entire time and tucks her butt in. When Maxine stops dancing, she looks at the girls. Each one of them, Diana, Mary, and Florence, have their mouths wide open. Why are you shocked that I can dance? Mary blurts out what all of them are thinking.

That's not it. We're shocked that it looks better your way. The girls fall into a fit of laughter. Maxine waits for them to calm down. She has time. Martha and the Vandellas are coming in later in the day. When Maxine first came to Motown one year ago, Martha had a profanity issue. But now Maxine has completely worked it out of her.

Diana, I see you're wearing long, false eyelashes again. Turning her head up, almost pouting, Diana says the eyelashes are in style. No, they're your style and they're out. I've already talked to Mr. Gordy. Motown will buy you shorter ones. The girls grumble as Maxine directs them to bring the three stools against the wall to the middle of the room. Today, you're going to practice sitting properly on these stools.

Mary is defiant. Why? We don't go to bars. The other girls back Mary up.

Maxine has a mandate to get Motown artists to fit in the company of kings and queens and to visit the president at the White House. Mr. Gordy wants his artists to come across as charming in interviews, performances, and appearances. Every Motown act has to go to artist development two days a week. If anybody was meant for this job, Maxine.

Maxine was. Whether they like it or not, Maxine would not let these girls down. She would not let them embarrass themselves on stage or on television, not on her watch. Transforming herself into the most poised General America has ever seen, Maxine commands the girls to sit. They do. No talkback. For once, Maxine is proud.

At the end of April, the Supremes made an appearance on The Mike Douglas Show, a popular syndicated daytime talk show, part of Barry's plan to make Motown a household name. I bet you can guess what they were given to sit on. Stools? Now, listen, as somebody who personally hates a stool, especially when they don't have a back on it,

It's just so hard to sit up straight and not be hunched over. And if you're wearing a skirt, you got to make sure that you've got your legs positioned the right way or everybody's looking straight up your skirt. So, you know, it sounds annoying, like when you put it in the context of them learning this stuff, but.

it actually is helpful and dare I say we should bring back artist development I hate to even sound like an uncle like that but I think you got a point though especially when we talking earlier about how in the music industry a lot of black artists just get seen as assets for sounds I think the lack of artist development shows that they feel like they don't need to invest that no more oh yeah to the next clicky pop trend the next next TikTok trend and shit sink if you can swim swim if you can sink it's up to you

It is what it is.

and they have no stage presence. They're not doing any choreography. They don't even seem confident. They're looking down at the ground, whatever. And all of that stuff just takes practice and development. Not everybody has to do choreography. Not everybody has to be wearing a ball gown. But if I'm paying money to see you,

I want to see a show and I want to see somebody who feels confident. And so while I can imagine that while the Supremes were going through this training, it was like, oh, this is so annoying. But when you see the Supremes and you see how like poised and perfectly put together they were.

you realize like the development made a difference and it really made them stand out and be the successes that they were. Yeah, it definitely did. It also, I feel like we can be critical too about how, you know, artists are developed in a way to be palatable and consumable for a white audience. Yeah, I mean, and I think

that's something that you and I have talked about a number of times that unfortunately there is no right or acceptable way to be black. There's always going to be somebody that has something to say. And so I can see both sides and that Barry was trying to make his artists successful. But you're right. It's sad that there's this

thing looming in the back of anybody's head that if my artist or my work is going to be successful, it has to be consumed by white people when it really should just be about making the best product possible, making something that you believe in and letting it find its natural audience.

But we also know that that is, you know, a pipe dream in many respects, especially at this time. What? Because I hate to be that Negro. But let me just let me just acknowledge the elephant in the room. You feel me when you think about the original archetypes of R&B trying to make it where these artists were for friend being consumable and being desirable by white folks.

In 2024, everything figured out. You know what, man? We don't even want Black folks R&B no more. We want to get just a good, soulful sounding white person. And that's going to be the easiest, remarkable thing to sell to white folks. You know what I'm saying? We want that blue-eyed soul. Yeah. It's real. You know, hey, listen. That's no disrespect to the Adele's of the world. You know what I'm saying? But there needs to be critical about how there are a lot of Black artists that have these big, soulful voices. And it's just seen as being like, ah, yeah.

Hey, dogs bark, the sky is blue, and that Negro has some soul. So what? You know what I'm saying? I think it also has to be said on social media as well, is when you have, you feel me, the original proliferation of TikTok, you had a lot of white people taking black unique dances that was created by black women, by black girls, for black women, for black girls, and you had a lot of white people

And they was charting off, you feel me? Yeah. Getting equity and things like that. Getting brand deals, getting to perform on late night shows, getting their own reality shows and clothing lines and every this, that, and the third. And again, this is not anything new.

In 1965, Berry hires well-known choreographer Cholli Atkins. He joined Maxine in artist development. Priority is given to The Temptations, The Supremes, Martha and the Vandellas, Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, Marvin Gaye, and The Four Tops. Berry asks Cholli to give the acts a more organized presentation and performance style.

By making them palatable to white audiences, Barry can take Motown artists into new territory, like performing at supper clubs. Also, classy and elegant sells records. Motown fever sweeps the nation. Stax artists are much more laid back.

There aren't string arrangements to make the listeners feel comfortable. And even though Al institutes more structure, recording sessions are very organic. It's more of a farm than a factory. Stax is left scrambling to compete. Jim is looking for more security. In May 1965, Jim Stewart and Jerry Wexler decide to formalize the handshake agreement between Stax and Atlantic Records.

Stax will receive 15 cents for each single sold and 10% of the retail list price on albums. Stax is also responsible for paying the artists. Jim is satisfied with these terms, but he wants to make an addition to the contract.

He asks that a key man clause be included. If Jerry leaves Atlantic, Jim don't want to be stuck with a new executive. He wants to be able to break the deal. Atlantic's lawyers assure him that they've included the clause. They send it to Jim to read. He double checks that the key man clause has been included. It has been. Jim signs without a glance at any other part of the agreement.

The escape hatch from the Atlantic Agreement makes Jim feel more secure. If Jerry leaves, Jim can follow him. Jim's attention turns back to production. He makes music that impresses other musicians. Al is chasing Motown. Crossover appeal has its perks. TV appearances, more press, both of which translate into more money. Jim joins in the pursuit, but he wants Stax to succeed on its own terms, with its own sound.

Motown dominates the field right now, but that might not last for long with a reinvigorated Stax on its heels. Middle of February 1966, Memphis. Estelle dusts off the calendar again at the record shop at Stax. It's located where the movie theater's old concession stand used to be. Business has been slow. Estelle understands why.

Everybody's already spent all their money on their sweethearts of Valentine's Day. The kids who usually hang out will come back around on payday. She walks over to the records and starts straightening them out.

Her store sells records from a bunch of different labels, not just Stax. She keeps meticulous notes on what kind of music is selling for Jim and Al. They use the information to develop the types of sounds Stax Records is going to be putting out next.

It makes her feel like an important part of the Stax machine. She jots down a note to herself. It reads, Ask Al to send the latest potential singles. I want to test them out on the store speakers when the kids return.

Estelle looks at the door to see who's coming in. She gets excited. Blues musician Albert King is here in the flesh. She flutters over to him like a butterfly to a flower. Mr. King, I'm Estelle. I'm such a big fan. How can I help you? Estelle knows how he can help her. Record on the Stax label. His 1962 album, The Big Blues, still sells well in the store. Plus, she's overheard people raving about his live performances on the club circuit.

Albert and Estelle chit-chat as he drifts around the store looking at different albums. Finally, she asks him the question lurking behind every word she's uttered since he walked through the door 20 minutes ago. Would you be interested in joining the Stacks family? Put out an album with us? Albert doesn't take long to answer, but to Estelle, it seems like an eternity. Sure. Yeah, I think I would.

Estelle runs over to the counter and shuffles through a stack of papers. Ah, there it is. Laundromat Blues. Songwriter Sandy Jones dropped it off a couple of weeks ago. Estelle hands the music sheet to Albert and tells him to learn the song for his audition with her brother and business partner, Jim. I hope you know we don't mean it as an insult, asking a great talent like you to audition. Jim just needs to hear people in person so he knows what's what.

Albert nods while he folds the paper and puts it in his back pocket. The truth is, Estelle thinks Jim will need to be overwhelmed by Albert's talent to sign a Pure Blues app. When Albert leaves the store, Estelle hightails it to the office Jim shares with Al Bell. She tells him what happened. Jim starts to protest about the audition, but she reminds him that blues is selling really well in the store, and Al Bell knows a lot of new DJs who will play blues records.

Jim finally relents, and she pulls the big sister card. Estelle resists hugging him. She doesn't want to seem unprofessional. She wants Jim to take her as seriously as he takes Al.

Her push for Albert King paid off for Stax. L'Andromaque Blues is recorded and released in March 1966. It reached number 29 on the R&B charts. A year later, Stax puts out Albert King's first new album in five years. Born under a bad sign.

The title song is covered by several musicians, including the great Jimi Hendrix and the white rock band Cream. The song gives Stax a little bit of the crossover appeal Jim and Al have been craving. Meaning white kids like the music, right?

Yeah, more white kids means more money. Don't forget, Al is using Barry Gordy as his template, although maybe he shouldn't at this point. Towards the late 60s, the largely white hippie movement thinks of Motown as old-fashioned. They prefer acid rock. Other white kids are getting swept up in the British invasion. Stax's audience, which is about 99% black, remains its safe harbor.

Stacks in Motown are becoming pillars of soul music. But the demands of reinventing Motown and growing Stacks could cause Berry Gordy and Jim Stewart to fumble their progress. If Berry leans too hard into corporate culture, he could lose his artists. They make Motown what it is. Meanwhile, Jim's bad business decisions put Stacks in mortal danger. He has to adapt quickly.

where stacks won't survive. 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 first episode of our four-part series, Motown vs. Stacks. We use multiple sources when researching our stories, including the Detroit Historical Society, The Washington Post, 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 Erin 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 Candace 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.