"Smokey Joe"

I wish I could sing. I wish I had a voice that made people stop what they’re doing, no matter what it is, and make them feel compelled to loudly announce to everyone within earshot “I love this song!” I’ve done that, and so have you, if you’re normal. Sometimes you’ve got an air guitar or an air organ or air drums or an air microphone, and sometimes, if the song really moves you, you can play all air instruments and sing simultaneously. Sometimes you burst out to a less than sympathetic reception. You don’t get to pick the times that the music moves you, but when it happens, there ain’t no shyin’ away from it.

I hate to sound like an old fart, but when I was a kid, the only music you got was on the AM radio. You could buy 45’s, and that was cool, but unless you had a ton of money, you couldn’t have all the good songs, because there was a new hit every week, and anybody who listened to the radio knew what they were. Some say the music scene in the mid-twentieth century was homogenous, but they don’t understand. I challenge them to name just one song in the past few years that had America and the world singing and dancing at the same time. Aretha Franklin did it. So did Dusty Springfield and Otis Redding and a host of other acts that made up the “pop” scene of the 60’s. Everybody knew what the British Invasion was because every radio station played them. For that brief era, much of the world danced to the same tunes.

It would be unfair to pick out one as a favorite. Just when you thought you’d heard the coolest song ever, another would come out and replace it. My favorites changed from day to day, and they still do, even though they’re still all the same old songs. So while I can’t say what my definitive favorite is, I still want to add my homage to the man I think has one of the greatest voices I’ve ever heard: William Robinson Sr., better known as “Smokey.”

Smokey Robinson’s voice glides through my head like a pat of butter sliding across a warm skillet. Indeed, after he has sung a word, its velvety smoothness lingers, and it leaves me waiting for the next one. When I’m happy, Smokey’s voice cheers with me, and when I’m sad, the same voice consoles me. There is something about his voice that, for me, anyway, goes beyond mere auditory perception; it touches my soul. I daresay that if I were a woman and Smokey Robinson sung to me, I would melt on the spot and surrender. He writes songs with deceptively simple lyrics about love lost or desired, and he delivers them with that silky voice that could melt the iciest heart.

I’m not alone in thinking that Smokey’s lyrics are a thing of wonder. Bob Dylan called him “America’s greatest living poet,” and I couldn’t agree more. If you’ve ever tried to write poetry, you know how hard it can be to string words together that have the same number of syllables, rhyme, and make sense, all at the same time. So many songs end up sounding like they rhyme, but if you listen carefully, the meter is off. They’re cheating, squeezing extra syllables in, but not Smokey. And again, when he’s got the perfect idea in verse, he perfects it by singing, almost cooing like a dove, sounding for all the world like a divine messenger bearing tidings of great joy and comfort. Thank you, William “Smokey” Robinson.

Songs, of course, are ephemeral; they always end. One of the greatest achievements of humans was the invention of sound recording. The same song played at different times can evoke different feelings. The notes don’t change, but the mood of the listener does. It’s so hard to describe the magic of music. We know how it makes us feel, but how does it do that? Of course the music and the lyrics matter, but I sometimes think that it appeals to us on a much deeper level. Perhaps it’s merely the sounds of it that move us, like wind chimes. Sometimes you hear a song sung in a language you don’t understand but still enjoy. For all you know, the lyrics could be about churning butter, but the proper notes in the proper order can resonate around your brain and strike a chord in your being that can change your mood. That, my friends, is true magic.

EPILOGUE: There is much more to Smokey Robinson than is described above. I just happened to be listening to him when it struck me to make a feeble attempt at describing how his music moves me. A good article on him can be found here. And for the record, I like all the oldies. I like the Temptations, Herman’s Hermits, and all of the one-hit-wonders.